The Last Resort Motel: Room Thirteen Page 9

“Fondling, penetration, stroking, oral, and anal. Also, no dating, kissing, or flirting. Other women in general are completely off limits.”

  Declan needs women and sex like he needs air; I can’t see him agreeing to my demands.

  “Porn?” he replies with a smirk.

  “No live webcam porn where you can interact with the people on camera.”

  His mouth drops. “Do you think I do that?”

  “Wouldn’t put it past you.”

  “Do you do that?” he asks with a slow, decadent smile.

  “Ew, Declan, don’t be so nasty.”

  Laughing, his eyes light up. I hate the way he makes me feel inside when he does that. “You’re the one who brought it up, Holly. But okay, I’ll play. What do I get in return?”

  This is where it gets tricky. Once I let him back into my life, I’ll never want to let him go. Even worse, I’m not even sure I want him back in the first place. “What would you want in return? Not saying I’ll give it to you, but hypothetically speaking.”

  “You in my bed, every night for the rest of my life.”

  “Not happening,” I retort, but he’s not fazed in the slightest.

  “Didn’t think it would, but I had to aim high, right? How about your friendship, and at least one date a week, plus sex with each other when you need it?”

  “When I need it?” I ask with a raised brow.

  Leaning against the doorjamb, he crosses his feet in front of him. “If I asked for sex when I need it, we’ll never leave the apartment.”

  His words make me blush.

  “How long do we play this game?”

  Stalking toward me like a man on a mission, Declan grabs my hand, placing it over his heart. “As long as it takes for you to realize you’re the only one who has ever owned my heart and you’re the only one who ever will.”

  The frantic beating of his heart under my palm makes me want to fall in love with him all over again. The truth is, I miss him. I’ve never missed anyone the way I miss him and he only lives ten feet away.

  “Holly, the two of us are meant to be. What will it hurt to try again?”

  “You … I …” Releasing a frustrated sigh, I pull my hand away from his chest. I can’t think with Declan touching me. “If we try this and it doesn’t work out, you need to move. Those are my terms. When it ends …”

  “It won’t,” he emphasizes.

  “When it does—”

  “If it does,” he corrects, moving further into my personal space.

  “You’ll move and leave me alone. Losing you once nearly killed me, Dec, losing you twice would …”

  “Holly,” he says, his lips hovering a breath above mine, “I’m not stupid enough to lose you twice in a lifetime.” His lips cover mine in a soft, quick kiss. When he pulls back, he smiles bigger than I’ve seen in ages and walks away.

  “Tomorrow night, seven p.m., my place, for dinner, friendship, and our first grownup date,” he says before closing the door behind him.

  I’m still standing in the middle of my living room, stunned, when there’s a knock at the door a few minutes later. Through the peephole I see Declan standing there holding another box. When I swing open the door, he passes the box to me. “We didn’t discuss my rules. You can’t date, either. The rules you set for me apply to you as well. Self-satisfaction is important, you should find something in here that will fit your vibrator. Unless you’ve changed your mind. I’m happy to take care of your intimate needs, Holls.”

  Pulling a pack of AA batteries from his box, I hand it back. “I can take care of myself, Dec, I have been for a long time now. See you tomorrow.”

  Keep reading for a sneak peek of Just an Illusion – Side A

  JUST AN ILLUSION – SIDE A

  AMELIA

  Present Day – Two Years After The Tour

  STORIES ARE MEANT TO BE told. I firmly believe that, or I wouldn’t have pursued a career in writing. And yet, some stories should never be told for a variety of reasons. My story—OUR story—is on the cusp of both of those beliefs. When I first met them, it was quickly decided I would write their story. And their story is a great story, one I want to tell with all my heart and soul. One their fans truly deserve after all this time. The only problem is, in order to tell their story, I have to tell mine, too, since they’ve become so intricately entwined. I’m not sure I’m ready to share my story yet. My heart may not survive if I do.

  As I release an exhausted sigh, I pause momentarily and deeply inhale the scent of the Pacific Ocean. The beautiful sunset’s reflection shines on the waves, looking like a million shimmering suns. The silence in the house is all encompassing and allows me to take a few moments to appreciate life. It’s funny how so many things can change over the course of a few years. How one person’s life can go from private to public in the blink of an eye. How easily we transition beyond our humble beginnings, instead winding up in the lap of luxury. How fate always seems to find a way to intervene.

  When I started this journey, I lived in a small, one-bedroom apartment in Encino, California. And now, I’m living most people’s dream. My home—well, technically it’s their home—is a beautiful beachfront house with every amenity I could have ever dreamed of. But at the end of the day, it’s just a house, and a house isn’t a home until you make it one. Even though it’s been over two years since I officially moved in, making this house my home is still a feat I haven’t quite yet mastered. If I accept this house, I have to accept the realities that come with it—realities I’m not ready to acknowledge.

  Realities I should have long ago accepted.

  His ultimatum tonight threw me into a tailspin. He knows he’s making me relive the best and worst days of my life. It’s not his fault; they’re his, too, and he’s waited long enough. He genuinely wants to make this a home for us, but he’s worried my heart may not completely be his.

  Is it?

  I love him. I’ve always loved him, but being in love with someone is different than loving them. The only way to figure it out for sure is to write THE story—his, mine, theirs, and ours.

  I turn away from the window, fire up my laptop, and uncork a bottle of my favorite Pinot Grigio, filling the largest wine glass I own. It’s cool, and the alcohol warms me going down. If I’m going to do this, I need something to soothe me. Especially when I have to read his notes and pull all of Belle’s articles. I need those most of all for this story to be truly complete.

  It’s just a story, Amelia, you write them all the time. It doesn’t have to be published; you’re just purging it from your system and getting it on paper. But if anyone ever got their hands on it … If they find out you finally wrote it, there’s no coming back.

  Closing my eyes, I wage the internal battle with myself. He gave me a deadline; I have seventy-two hours to answer his proposal. Three days. I’m not quite sure if three days is long enough for my heart to catch up with my mind. It doesn’t matter; he’s serious this time.

  The boys left and went camping, giving me time to do this, to gather myself. He was hesitant to leave me alone, knowing how hard it will be for me. Eventually, I convinced him I’d be fine. I’m not so sure now, but it doesn’t matter. It’s time to put on my big girl panties and give him an answer. Which leaves me only one thing left to do.

  It’s time to write our story.

  BELLE’S FIRST BAD ANNOUNCEMENT

  Three Years Ago

  Slammers!

  It’s your girl Belle here, and I’ve got some freaking amazing news to share with you! This girl and her best friend Mel are heading out for a night with BAD. That’s right, you heard me—Bastards and Dangerous are in town, and I’ve got a feeling I’m going to have a super scoop for you all tomorrow. Keep your fingers crossed these backstage passes will shed some light on the super-secret info BAD has been teasing us all with for weeks!

  Don’t forget, live today like there’s no tomorrow!

  Xs and Os,

  Belle

  CHAPTER 1


  The Day It All Began

  “AMELIA! ARE YOU REALLY WEARING that to the BAD concert?”

  Bastards and Dangerous, otherwise known as BAD, are all of the above from what I hear. I’m not a fan. I’ve got eclectic tastes in music, but they’re just a little too loud for me. Since I’m not a fan, I don’t feel the need to wear the overly obvious I’m a groupie BAD shirt Belle brought over for me. Instead, I’m wearing my best curve-hugging jeans, my favorite black Converse, and a dark blue V-neck sweater. The concert is at The Greek, an outdoor venue. Our nights have been hovering at fifty degrees all week, which is unusually cold for Southern California, especially for late August. Global warming at its finest, but I’m not going to freeze so I can fit in with the crowd.

  “Yes, Belle, this is exactly what I’m wearing. Don’t like it? I’ll happily bow out and you can give my ticket to someone else,” I answer with a smug smile.

  “No, it’s fine. You can come like that. I only hope they’re not offended when they meet you and you’re not supporting them,” she says while crossing her arms and giving me her best pouty face.

  “I don’t know why you think we’re even going to meet them. They’re the biggest band out there right now. Besides, I highly doubt they’ll care if one person out of the millions they’ve met isn’t branded in something they make a commission off of.”

  She rolls her eyes at me. “I’ve already told you it’s inevitable. Thanks to my kickass job as music editor at Slammed Magazine, we’ve got great press seats. And they sent VIP backstage passes so I can interview them.”

  I laugh, I can’t help it. “Belle, I love you, but their manager said ‘if they have time’ you can interview them. You know as well as I do bands don’t stick around the venue any longer than necessary. By the time we get backstage, they’ll be long gone.”

  “Nope.” She pauses to slick on her lip gloss before finishing her thought. “That’s how it usually works, but not tonight. Something big is coming down the pipeline, they’re getting ready to announce something. Everyone is talking about it. Slammed is the biggest entertainment magazine on the market and they want us there. They’ve never had someone hand deliver backstage passes to us before. That’s why I took them instead of giving them to some rookie reporter. And that’s why I want you there, too. Since you’re an author, you can help me craft an amazing story.”

  “One book, Belle. I’ve got one book out. Using the word author is reaching a bit.” She has way too much faith in me.

  “Amelia Greyson! Stop belittling yourself. You may only have one book out, but I know you have at least ten more on your computer you don’t think are good enough to publish. Your one book has been number one on the New York Times bestseller list for the last three weeks! That’s huge! It’s author status at its finest. You need to be proud of your accomplishment, I know I am. I tell everyone I can about my best friend the author.”

  Belle is beaming, her smile is as wide as I’ve ever seen it, and I know she’s right. It is huge for me; it’s a dream come true. But it could also be a fluke, so I’m not planning on moving out of my cozy one-bedroom apartment anytime soon.

  “Alright, we’re wasting time being sentimental. Let’s get out of here and go meet your BAD boys.”

  She giggles. “I’m hoping I can get one of them to be bad with me tonight!” We both burst into laughter and head down to the limo; at least Slammed sends their staff out to events in style.

  Once we’re settled in our seats at the venue, Belle is bouncing around like an excited teenager, but then again, so is almost everyone else here. Thankfully, we’re in the press section, so it’s not teeming with overly excited fans. The people in this section at least pretend to tone it down a bit … that is, until the show starts.

  The opening act was good, but for the life of me, I can’t remember what they said their name was. I’ll have to ask Belle later. She’s having a blast, just like everyone else. I’m trying to act excited for her sake, but it’s hard to feign excitement for a band you don’t really like.

  When the music begins to blare and the lights start flashing at seizure-inducing speeds, the band runs onto the stage one by one.

  How in the world can they even see with all those strobe lights?

  “How the fuck are you doing tonight, Los Angeles?”

  The crowd’s response is deafening. Another band member picks up a mic. “I don’t think you heard Noah when he asked you how the fuck are you doing tonight, Los Angeles?”

  The crowd screams even louder, and I’m wishing I would have brought some earplugs to help take down the decibels a bit. I forgot how loud rock concerts are. Or maybe I just selectively blocked it from my memory.

  Another guy walks out from the side of the stage; he’s cute in a tatted up rock star kind of way. “Alright, we’re about to kick this bitch off, but before we do and you all are too drunk and hyped up to remember, Sawyer has some news we want to share with you.”

  One of the four takes his spot on the drums, the other guys are assembling themselves with guitars, and Sawyer—I’m assuming—takes the mic. He looks a lot like the cute one who came out first, just a little more sinful. I think Belle mentioned there were brothers in the band. I can’t say for sure from here, but I think he even has dimples. Witnessing their sex appeal up close and personal reminds me of Belle’s earlier wish, and I have to admit I agree with her. I wouldn’t be opposed to being bad with them for a night. Even if their music isn’t for me.

  “Los Angeles, are you ready to rock?”

  More deafening screams. I think a girl in the front row just passed out. Good God, it isn’t all that, and neither are they. They’re just men. Sexy as sin, granted, but still just men, and self-proclaimed bastards at that.

  “First, I want to say thank you all for coming out to see us tonight. There aren’t any other California shows on our tour schedule since we’re winding up our current tour. However, we have some really big news to announce and needed to stop off to give Slammed Magazine an exclusive interview.”

  My eyes lock on Belle’s; hers are as wide as saucers. She had no clue the extent of their generosity when they gave Slammed tickets and passes. They must have really wanted to keep this a secret if Slammed didn’t even get a heads up, only an “if they have time” statement. It’s why the passes were hand delivered. They’re smart; they knew the hottest entertainment magazine on the planet wouldn’t flake on them.

  “So we figured two birds, one stone. We play for you in our awesome home state and then do the interview before heading back out on the road. Of course, it goes without saying we strongly encourage you to pick up Slammed Magazine in two weeks to read about our exciting news. Or at the very least, go to Slammedinc.com and check out the entertainment updates.”

  The crowd explodes into thunderous cheers and applause as the band kicks off the show. Belle has mellowed somewhat, and I know she’s wondering how she’s going to pull this off in just a few short days. I’ll definitely have to help her now. Slammed just went to print with next week’s issue, and it’ll be out in a few days. She’s got a small window of time to write and perfect this article before the following week’s issue goes to print. It’s kind of presumptuous of them to announce when the article will be out, but then again, any magazine worth their readers would do whatever they have to in order to scoop this story. Even if it means putting out a special edition, which is what is likely going to happen.

  Whatever her worries are, Belle’s over them in a flash, and she bounces back up to dance and scream the night away. Of course, I’m not a total downer, so I join her dance party and we celebrate her happiness. Even though I’m not a fan of the band, I’m a huge fan of Belle, and this article is going to launch her career even farther. I’m so proud of her.

  The band leaves the stage for a quick break, and before they come back onstage for their encore, Belle and I make our way down to the backstage entrance. We’re not the only ones with this idea, but we are the only ones with the passes g
ranting us access to BAD. Thankfully, there are a few bodyguards posted who are able to guide us through the crowd of crazy bitches. I seriously thought one was going to fight me just to get my pass. Little does she know, I’ve been there and done that. I can take down a crazy bitch in a hot second if necessary. I left that all behind me for a reason. Hardcore fans are crazy; they’re constantly throwing their underwear and yelling out crazed delusions of having rock star babies. Or even worse, trying to act out that fantasy by drugging them and tampering with condoms. These women, and even some men, have no shame. Don’t they realize these men are just people? I don’t know how celebrities do it.

  People don’t realize all you give up to live out your dreams—the demons you take on, the heavy toll it takes on your life. How can anyone get used to that? How could you ever trust anyone enough to forge a new friendship or fall in love? I’d always question if they truly wanted me or what I have to give them.

  We’re ushered down a long corridor, our footsteps echoing behind us. Up ahead of us, the band is huddled together getting ready to go back onstage for their encore. From the looks of it, besides the normal crew and staff, we are literally the only people back here with passes.

  Interesting …

  We’re greeted by a large man with a security all-access badge about halfway between the entrance and where the band is standing. I wouldn’t ever want to wind up on this guy’s bad side. He’s intimidating. “We have to go past the band to get to the green room where they’ll meet with you later. Please, don’t make me get rough with you two. If you have fangirl shit to get out of your system, do it in the green room. Don’t say anything to them as we pass, and don’t freak out or try to grope them. You’re here in a professional capacity, and I hope you’ll continue to act that way.”

  Belle and I exchange knowing glances, and I know she’s thinking exactly what I am. This guy is a dick. But he’s doing his job, and I’m sure it’s a difficult one. Belle is a fan, but she’s a professional first. As for me, I don’t fangirl over anyone, let alone a band I don’t even like.