never deserved her doe-eyed devotion or the crush she’d thought was love. He was just a songwriter trying not to ride on his father and grandfather’s coattails. He was the guy who hated the cameras and the interviews and the crowds. He had just wanted to sit on a porch with her and make music. It was naïve and it wasn’t the world they lived in. It wasn’t Jolene’s reality and by proxy it was no longer his. He hadn’t realized how fast her star would rise and how little he’d be able to cope with it, and it had blown up their relationship.
It was important to him that Jolene knew exactly what she was getting into, because they could claim to be in it just for the sex, but nothing between them was ever simple.
Being here with her was like indulging in a good old-fashioned drunk. You knew you’d pay for it the next day, but you did it anyway. And you did it up good, throwing back shots.
Going down on Jolene was like doing shots. She would taste sweet and tangy and her cries would go straight to his head. He’d lose control, he knew he would. He wanted to do dirty, nasty things to her. Sexy, possessive, base things. What’s more, he was pretty sure she’d let him.
Then they would be lost in each other all over again and this time, they’d crash even harder than the first go-round.
He almost hadn’t survived the first time. He wasn’t sure he could do it a second time.
They were writing songs together. And now he had tasted her again for the first time in months, seen her beautiful body. There was really no way to keep this cool and casual, but maybe if they were going to indulge in each other, which they both clearly wanted to do, they needed to clear the proverbial air first. They had already crossed a line, but not to the point of no return. It was time to learn how to communicate with each other outside of songs and sex.
“What was our last fight about?” he asked, wrapping a towel around his waist. Some questions were better asked without his dick waggling.
Jolene blinked at him as she opened the door and stepped out of the shower. She gripped the faucet and shut the water off. “What? Are you kidding me right now?”
“No. I honestly can’t remember. It seemed like one minute you were mixing up some sangria and I was firing up the grill because it was finally warm after a cold ass winter, then we were screaming and I was packing my clothes.” He had either blocked out the details or they had been unimportant. Fuel and flames. That was them. It was important to remember that. “It wasn’t really just about that picture, was it?”
She looked around for a towel and when she didn’t see one within reach, she just yanked his towel off of his waist and wrapped it around herself. Well if that didn’t beat the Dutch. What’s his was hers apparently.
“I could have gotten you a towel,” he said, already reaching for another one.
“I didn’t feel like waiting. I’m cold.” She tucked the fabric between her breasts. “It started because I asked you to go to that dinner with the executive from the label. You know, the man who signs our paychecks.”
“Oh. Right.” He vaguely remembered that. He’d tried to bail and she had protested and suddenly it had escalated into all manner of poor judgment.
“But mostly it was about how you refused to do damage control after that damn picture came out. You just blew it off. Easy enough for you since you weren’t the one humiliated.”
He had never really understood that. “People write a bunch of crap in those magazines all the time. What difference did it make?”
“This wasn’t pregnancy rumors or talking about my weight. This was the media saying you cheated on me and you not refuting it.”
He didn’t exactly see the difference. You either cared about the lies or you didn’t. Why was one lie more important than another? But now he thought she was saying he should have had her back. “I didn’t understand how much it mattered to you. So, uh, sorry. You’re right. I should have been more vocal about denying it if that’s what you wanted.”
She eyed him long and hard. “What is happening right now?” she asked. “I’m confused. I thought we were about to have sex, not beat