When I wake, it’s with arms the size of Africa enveloping me. Glancing down, I take in tanned skin with fine, dark hair peppering corded muscles. Long fingers decorated in ghost-white scars cup one of my breasts, a strong leg is nestled between my legs, and the broadest of chests warms my back. I’ve found my happy place.
“Morning,” a sleepy voice mumbles.
Scrap that, now I’ve found my happy place. Zeke’s gravelly tone sets off a series of fireworks, culminating in wet heat, hardened nipples, and an inescapable need to lick something.
“Hey,” I murmur.
He must be able to feel my arousal because with a low chuckle, Zeke pinches one taut peak. My body arches, ass pressing against his already hard cock. I moan.
However, before I have a chance to do anything else, there’s a knock at the front door. Zeke stills.
“Are you expecting anyone?” I ask.
“No.”
The knock sounds again, louder this time.
I reach for my phone on the side table and check the time. It’s five in the morning. Since this is the time I get up to visit Mom, I’m not surprised my body clock woke me this early, and because Zeke exercises first thing, it’s only natural he’s awake too. But why would anyone else be?
The knock turns into a series of thundering blows, and I’m thankful the door remains on its hinges. On a lesser building, it would have caved in for sure.
Zeke growls, jumping out of bed. For a large man, he moves with unnatural grace. Each movement is silent, purposeful, premeditated. Even in the darkness, the silhouette of his naked form is clear. The strong lines, smooth skin, and muscular physique are so beautiful I’d be happy to ogle him forever. Sadly, my hope is short-lived when he pulls on sweatpants and a shirt.
“Wait here.” Without waiting for a response, he leaves the room.
“And leave you to welcome the person stupid enough to knock?” I snort. “Unlikely.” Slipping from beneath the covers, I ignore my aching muscles, throw on one of Zeke’s T-shirts, and pad after him.
The closer I get, the more heated the voices become. Since Zeke’s herculean body takes up the entire doorway, it’s impossible to see who’s outside. However, when a creative phrase using the word asshole is yelled, the tension in my shoulders eases. It’s a baritone I know well.
“Drake?”
Zeke doesn’t bother looking at me. Instead, he throws over one shoulder, “Go back to bed.”
“No.”
“Willow.”
Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I glare at the back of him. It’s frustrating how even when pissed, my eyes caress his broad shoulders. Yep, beautiful. Doesn’t change the fact he’s acting like a douche though.
Pursing my lips, I contemplate what the heck is going on. Why did Zeke transform from lovingly affectionate to cold and distant in under five minutes? Why is Drake yelling obscenities him? And why is this all going down at five in the freaking morning? It makes no sense.
Despite the questions creating a whirlwind in my brain, there’s no way I’m going to let Zeke bark orders at me. So, in a low tone, I grit out, “I’m Willow now, am I?”
Spinning on his heel, Zeke glares at me. “Not. Now.”
Raising one eyebrow, I dare him to continue. There’s no way he’s going to bark orders at me, and there’s no way he’s going to stop me from seeing my bandmate either. I’ve known Drake since we were kids; if he’s awake before dawn, it must be pretty damn important. I’m going to hear him out.
When Zeke remains silent, I take it as a positive sign and push past. Pausing on the threshold, I take in the man before me. “Holy Hades. Drake, you look terrible.”
“Tell me what you really think, Wil.”
He doesn’t look good, that’s for sure. His normally dark hair is wild, like he’s been raking agitated fingers through it. There are dark circles beneath his eyes, which, usually a bright blue, are now an angry cerulean. His normally good-humored expression is hardened with bitter fury, and I’m pretty sure he hasn’t slept.
“Are you okay?”
“That depends. If you consider having a stage-five clinger chasing your ass for the past four hours an awesome way to spend the night, then yep. I’m golden.”
“What are you talking about? Who’s been following you?” I touch his forearm; it’s tight. Probably because his hand is clenched in a fist. I’m guessing he wants to punch something or someone, and judging by the way he’s visually drilling holes in Zeke’s head, I’m guessing it’s him.
“Drake?”
His eyes shift to mine. “You’ll need pants for this conversation, Wil.”
It’s then I remember my appearance. Wild hair, swollen lips, and a disheveled T-shirt that’s not mine. I’ve nailed the I’ve-been-thoroughly-fucked look to perfection. However, not wanting to feel guilty about one of the best nights of my life, I straighten and square my shoulders. “I’m good.”
Drake shakes his head. “Can you at least tell your bodyguard to stand down? We need to talk.”
His entreating expression combined with the determined set of his jaw tell me he’s serious. Drake’s rarely serious, so his bombshell is going to be huge. It probably shouldn’t be detonated in the doorway. Since it’s not my apartment, I look to Zeke to see if it’s okay for my friend to come in. Only, he’s too busy scowling at Drake to notice.
Rolling my eyes, I prod Zeke with my elbow. He blinks.
“Can Drake come in?”
After the longest, most awkward pause in the history of forever, he gives a sharp nod, then turns on his heel and storms to the other end of the house. Sighing, I gesture for Drake to step inside.
“You’ve picked a real winner there,” he grumbles, wandering past.
Seems they’re both not morning people.
By the time we make it to the other end of the apartment, Zeke is glaring at his phone, his scowl deepening with each swipe of his thumb. After shoving the cell deep in his pocket, he paces the length of the windows, a caged animal desperate for escape. It’s the furrowed brow that worries me.
After a minute, he pauses and braces himself against the glass, head bowed.
This isn’t good.
Despite his earlier snark, I hate seeing him upset. I step up behind him. “Hey.” My palms fall flat on his heaving back, then slide around to his front until I’m hugging him. His heartbeat pounds against my hands, thudding in triple time. With my cheek against his shoulder blade, I murmur, “What’s going on?”
He doesn’t respond. Instead, Zeke wraps one of his hands around my wrist and pulls until I’m standing between his strong frame and the glass. I watch him watch me, his gaze traveling from my eyes to the sprinkling of freckles on my nose before coming to rest on my parted lips. When it finally returns to my eyes, his expression has changed from fury to deadly resolve. It’s both daunting and fascinating.
“Are you gonna tell her, or am I?”
Zeke’s body goes ramrod straight.
We both look in the direction of the lead singer as he scans the room. “Where’s all your stuff? This place is emptier than a virgin’s pussy.” Drake collapses on the nearest couch, his head falling back on the soft leather. “Fuck, I’m tired.”
Ducking under Zeke’s arm, I pad over to my friend and sit next to him. I rest my hand on his thigh, ignoring the low growl behind me, and ask, “Can I get you anything? You look exhausted.”
Rolling his head to one side, Drake blinks. “You’d be exhausted too if the paparazzi tailed your ass all night.”
A knot forms in my stomach. “The paparazzi?”
“One and the same.”
My gaze flits between Drake and Zeke, but neither give anything away. It’s beyond difficult swallowing the rising panic, but somehow, I manage. “What happened?”
Shifting in his seat until he faces me, Drake pins me with a look. “I’ll tell you what fucking happened.”
“Watch your tone when you speak to her.” Zeke takes a step forward, his expression deadly.
“Calm your tits. She knows I’d never disrespect her.” Drake faces me, muttering, “No matter how stupid you are for getting involved with a prick like him.”
But Zeke hears him. “Call me that again, and you’ll be eating through a straw, motherfucker.”
I jump to my feet. “Guys, enough!”
Both glare at each other, ready for epic carnage in the form of fists and blood, but I’ll have none of it. Not on my watch.
Pointing at my foolish friend, I warn, “You will mind your damn manners. I don’t care how angry you are, you don’t speak to me or Zeke like that. Ever. Are we clear?” Drake glances away, grumbling under his breath.
Next, I face Zeke. “And you.” His gaze is heated, making me falter. My thoughts become a jumbled mess of ineffective phrases as hungry eyes roam my face and body. Damn it, now my nipples are hard. “Quit with the overprotective act. I can handle myself.”
Yeah, that didn’t sound convincing at all.
Stalking to where I stand, Zeke tilts my head back. “You’re fucking beautiful.”
His mouth crashes into mine. With a moan, I throw my arms around his neck, irritation forgotten. My sensitive breasts rub against his chest, craving the friction. Zeke grips the back of my neck, angles my head, and with a groan, forces his tongue inside.
“Pull your fucking shirt down, Wil. I can see your ass,” Drake groans.
With a squeal, I let go of Zeke and spin so my back is to his front. Thankfully, the T-shirt slides into place so both it and his large body hide the aforementioned ass. The same can’t be said for my face, however, which is clearly on display and no doubt a flaming red.
Drake glares at us. “That’s why we’re in this mess.”
“Because of my ass?” I’m 98 percent certain my brain isn’t functional yet. It’s still focused on trying to get my heart under control.
“Jesus Christ.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I need a fucking drink.”
“It’s five in the morning.”
“No shits to give.”
Surprisingly, after a squeeze of my hip, Zeke heads to the kitchen to pour my friend a whiskey. When he returns, he holds the glass to Drake. They have some silent conversation I can’t decipher, but I’m guessing it’s their way of apologizing. Either way, it ends in Drake taking the drink and Zeke keeping his fists to himself, so I’m calling it a win.
“Man, I needed that.” Drake slams the empty tumbler on the coffee table, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Better?” I ask.
He nods. After staring at the glass a moment, he takes a deep breath and faces me. “There’s no easy way to tell you this, so I’m just gonna come out and say it.”
Squaring my shoulders, I prepare myself for whatever is on his mind.
“You and lover boy, here,” he indicates Zeke, “made the headlines. Of every music and entertainment site worldwide.”
I need to sit down.
“I’d congratulate you if it weren’t for the picture of Zeke eating your face.” He holds up one hand. “Look, I get it. Lip biting is hot as fuck with the right person, but Jesus, Wil. Not in a dark alley near a fucking dumpster.” He gestures to Zeke. “Especially when said dumpster belongs to his fucking restaurant.” Shaking his head, he continues. “You couldn’t wait, could you?”
White noise fills my ears.
“How do they know Zeke owns the restaurant?” My voice is far away, even to my own ears.
“Selena,” Drake mutters.
Of course.
“You can bet your bare ass she jumped on the pity wagon and rode it all the fucking way to the bank,” he continues. “That bitch has been interviewed, she’s made two statements, and was even seen leaving a gig pretending to bawl her eyes out.” His hands clench into tight fists. I’d try to ease them open again, comfort him somehow, except I can’t. I’m frozen.
“Fucking terrible actress. Someone needs to tell her you need actual tears to pull off the whole crying thing.”
“Doesn’t matter though, does it?” I murmur, staring at the ground, my pale skin and light blue toenail polish stark against the floorboards. “The damage is already done.”
Drake’s silence is telling.
I’m going to be sick.
A large hand brushes hair away from my face. I barely notice. What I do notice, however, is my credibility slipping further and further away from me. No one will take me seriously after this. I’ll forever be known as the guitarist who slept her way to stardom, the chick who couldn’t make it on her own, the girl stupid enough to follow her heart and not her head.
Whore.
Slut.
I don’t need the headlines to read the lies. I don’t need the interview to know the deceit. Fuck, right this second Selena is playing the victim when it’s my career and the careers of my bandmates that are ruined. The hurt I’ve caused myself, I’ve caused for them too.
All for a kiss.
Was it worth it? Will the fallout from one moment of insanity be worth a void contract? A canceled tour? My band being labeled a joke?
If our contract is canceled, there won’t be an album. If there’s no album, no one will buy our music. If no one buys our music, there’s no royalty check. And if there’s no royalty check….
I choke back a sob.
The hand that trails across my skin is soft, soothing. I brush it away; I’m not worthy of the comfort. I need to get out of here. I need time to think and regroup before I officially lose my shit.
Without another thought, I stride from the room.
Heavy footsteps thud behind me. I disregard them.
“What are you doing?”
I throw on some underwear and a bra.
“Willow.”
Shorts, and a T-shirt that’s actually mine.
“Answer me.”
Socks and my Converse high tops.
Zeke grips my wrist as I walk past, intent on the bathroom. I wrench it away again. “Let go of me.”
His jaw is tight, but he does as I ask.
In the bathroom, I refuse to look at myself in the mirror. Something tells me I won’t like what I see. The woman staring back is a mockery to herself and her friends. She’s not a woman I’m proud of. She’s not the woman I want to be.
With dogged determination, I focus on brushing my teeth. It’s difficult appearing occupied while secretly formulating a plan to steal Zeke’s car keys without him realizing. Heck, I even rinse my mouth four times before coming up with a viable plan. Thankfully, I don’t have to go through with it because there’s a thundering knock at the door that distracts Zeke from his unswerving glare.
Food poisoning was never my jam anyway.
“You don’t leave this house. Got it?” he growls.
Silence.
With a muttered curse, Zeke storms to the hallway. Once the front door is open, there’s yelling, the sound of someone being pushed against a wall, and further scuffling. I don’t have time to investigate further because Shiloh darts into the bedroom, her dark eyes wild.
“Wil!” She tackle-hugs me, cutting off my air supply with her tight hold. My lips tingle.
“Can’t. Breathe.”
“Shit, sorry.” Loosening her hold, she peers into my face, concern etching her otherwise knockout features. “Girl, be honest with me. How far gone are you?”
“I’d say I’ve reached stage three of a mental breakdown.” Lifting my right hand, I show her the tremors.
“Fucking fuck.” She takes my hand in hers, rubbing it. “I’m gonna kill whoever leaked those photos. They were hot as fuck, don’t get me wrong. But damn, the timing was shit. Couldn’t Zeke wait until he got you in the car before sucking face? There was a fucking dumpster in the background. Fucking men. So damn impatient.” Pulling me after her, she mutters, “Come on, let’s get you out of here. Reid and Zeke are arguing, it’ll buy us some time.”
“Buy us some time for what?”
She throws a devious smile over her shoulder. “To escape.”
“Where are we going?”
“Wherever you want.”
“Reid’s going to lose it when he finds you missing.”
“He’ll get over it. Besides,” her smirk is playful, “make-up sex is the best.”
I’d laugh if I could. I do my best to conjure a grin, hoping it’ll get me halfway there. Sadly, the best I manage is the tiniest of mouth twitches.
Shiloh’s smile dies. “This is worse than I thought. Come on.”
She leads me past the two men. They’re so intent on throwing insults at each other they don’t notice us slip past. Once we’re outside, we run to Reid’s car and jump inside. With a roar of the engine, Shiloh speeds down the street.
“Where to?”
“Nursing home.”
Nodding, my best friend turns her attention to the road. “You got it.”
This is why I love her. It takes a special kind of friend to steal a car and act as my getaway driver when I need it most.