White Pawn Page 11

  “Yeah,” I huff, keeping my head on the table. “Just... ” I wave her off and she goes on and fucking on about how we met in that bar. About how Cobain was there and must have known we had a connection and that’s why he trotted over to her. How about you dropped your keys and he’s just a nosey motherfucker. I lift my head up and lightly pound it against the glass.

  “You sure you okay, baby?”

  “Yep.” I sit up, and the world spins a little. Three beers later, Amy and that girl are best friends and are planning a girl’s trip that Amy keeps telling me I’m not allowed on. Jesus. I’m not planning on talking to her after tonight. No problem keeping me off that damn trip.

  The glass doors slide open and Marisa prances out. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun and she’s wearing the shirt Chris had on at the signing. He walks out all broad shoulders and wide steps. A few of his douchebag friends are at the pool bar, and they all applaud and shout when he walks around the side of the pool.

  “Fucking Talon, where were you at?” One yells.

  The shorter one of the group stands up. He and Chris high-five. “Ah, they were up there fucking each other.”

  My eyes dart back over to Marisa who’s turning away from the bar with a drink in her hand. She looks at me, smiles, and walks straight to my table, cocking that damn hip of hers to the side when she stops next to me. “Hey, babe,” she says with a slight giggle.

  Amy immediately places her hand on my arm, and I crack my neck to the side, the sudden spike in my blood pressure evident by the pulsing in my temples. “Have a good time, huh?” I nod toward Talon.

  Marisa sighs, stirring her straw in her drink. “Yep. A fucking great time.” My grip on the armrest tightens and I swallow. “What about you, Amy,” she lilts, “did you enjoy yourself at the signing? Having a great time with Justin, hmmm?”

  “It was fun. Interesting.”

  “That’s a good word—” Marisa’s blue eyes dart to me, narrowing, “interesting. Justin is good at making things interesting.” Her gaze falls back to Amy. “Well, good to see you again. I’ve got to get back to my fuckbuddy now. I’m sure you understand, right, dear friend?”

  Oh—Now, I do grit my teeth—she is fucking something. After she walks off, all the women at the table stare at me. “Who is she?” one of them asks.

  “Marisa Dawson. With one ‘s’,” I say as I push my chair back. “I’ll be back.”

  “Justin—” Amy starts.

  “I said, I’ll be back,” I snap.

  My heart pounds in my ears as I storm across the patio. Some fucker jumps from the side of the pool and water splashes on the leg of my jeans. Marisa’s nearly back to Chris when I catch her by the arm. “Hey,” I say. “What the hell was that?”

  She shrugs. “I was just saying hi.”

  “Hi?” I lean down close to her face. I swear I can smell his cologne on her and it sets my skin on fire with a jealous rage. “That was not hi.” My nostrils flare. “Did you fuck him?”

  “I’m sorry?” She smiles and I tighten my grip on her arm.

  “Did. You. Fuck. Him.”

  One by one, she pries my fingers from her arm. “Well, that’s none of your business.”

  “Stop with your bullshit,” I say through gritted teeth. “We had something—”

  She tosses her head back on a sarcastic laugh before she looks at me, her eyes cold. “You fucked that up.”

  Chris comes walking over like he’s carrying a load of bricks under his arms. He stares at me when he stops next to Marisa and flicks her hair. “Got a problem, Wild?”

  “Nah, I don’t.” I glance at him with a smirk. “How’d my cock taste?” My eyes shoot over to Marisa before I turn around, walk back to the table, and swipe my beer. “I’m going to bed,” I tell the group before I storm off.

  I hear a patio chair topple to the pool deck, high heels tapping over the concrete, and then Amy’s hand is slipping between my side and my arm, holding onto me. “Don’t just leave me,” she says. Fuck, she’s whiney.

  “Look, you came to the signing, you saw what it was about... ” I turn and glance at her. Her face is crumpling and all hurt-looking. Just when I think I may cave and give into her, I hear Marisa’s girly-fucking-laugh float across the pool deck followed by Talon’s dumbfuck chuckle. “I just want to go to bed,” I say. “You drove, right?”

  “Yeah,” she glances to the ground and I stick my hand inside my pocket pulling out the cash I made at the signing this afternoon.

  I pull a bill lose and shove it at her. “Look, here’s a twenty for the valet, okay? Thanks for coming. It was great to see you.” And I kiss her on the forehead before turning and walking through the doors.

  I’m staring at the ceiling, the warm, early morning sun washing across it. I haven’t slept worth a shit because I’m still pissed. I shouldn’t be pissed, but I am. Somehow, I fucked around and got attached to Marisa. It’s never bothered me when any of the other girls messed around with other guys, but with Marisa, it’s different. There’s this crazy buzz that surrounds her and it’s like crack. Addictive. Alluring. Something I’d likely overdose on if I could. I wipe my hands down my face and turn toward the window before crawling out of bed. The room feels like it’s closing in on me and I just need to get out. Take a walk. Clear my mind. So, I do. Straight down to the beach for a six am walk.

  The humid, south Florida heat nearly suffocates me the second I step out onto the pool deck. The soft blues and pinks of the rising sun casts an unbelievable hue across the sand, the crooked white picket fence lining the walkway. Right now, the world looks like a painting. Too perfect to be true. The sand’s warm beneath the soles of my feet. I walk between the sea oats, and the second the ocean’s in view, I see Marisa sitting on the shore, her dark hair blowing in the early morning breeze. And that—that looks like a painting. My fucking heart tugs a little and I curse beneath my breath as I trod through the sand. When I stop behind her, she doesn’t look up. I know she sees my shadow.

  “Hey,” I say, shoving my hands in my pocket.

  “Hey.” She doesn’t move even though her hairs whipping across her face now.

  Sighing, I plop down next to her in the sand. The tide rushes up, the water almost as warm as bath water as it bleeds underneath the soles of my feet. And, all of a sudden, I feel like a little kid again, writing my name in the wet sand. I’m uncertain, and that is a feeling I’d nearly forgotten about, especially when it comes to women. Funny, how quickly that happens—forgetting such an unwelcomed feeling. Marisa though, fuck, Marisa. If I’m honest, I’d have never even approached a girl like her before the books. She’s too pretty. Too confident. Too smart. She’s the girl I never could get way back when. And it’s not that I’m insecure... I’m Justin Wild... yeah, I’m Justin Wild... it’s just, I still don’t see myself as that guy everyone claims I am. Sure, it’s easy to be a confident dickfuck. It’s all just an act anyway. You can’t get hurt if you don’t let people know the real you. Meredith knew the real me. She hurt me. I learned my lesson there, but still, with Marisa, I give in because she is almost a carbon-fucking copy of myself. A prettier carbon-copy if such a thing exists, but our souls—I feel, for some reason, those are the same. Like maybe in another life we loved each other. Fucked up, I know. Come on, Justin you sound like a tool, why don’t you just tell her she’s your fucking lobster and get it over with, hang yourself with your 12-inch nerd rope.

  “Look,” I say, “I’m... I’m sorry, okay. I just.” I sigh and brush my fingers over her back. “I’m not good at this shit, feelings and all that.”

  “I thought I could do this with you,” she whispers, swatting angrily at the tears trickling down her cheeks. “I thought I could just, you know, fuck you. Have fun, I mean, I know you’re a player. I never meant to catch feelings for you.”

  “Babe, come on, you have to know I have feelings for you, too?” I duck my head down and grab her chin, lifting her face. “Marisa, you have to know there’s some
thing there, right?” She stares at me, and I swear to god, her eyes are about as blue as that fucking ocean right in front of me and just as deep. Just as deep... “God, I’m fucked up.”

  “I just wish I wasn’t that girl, that’s what’s the worst. I’ve never been that girl.”

  “What are you talking about.”

  “The stupid girl.”

  “Shit, you aren’t—”

  Her eyes narrow and a slight laugh slips through her lips. “I’m not? So, there’s something different with me?”

  “Of course there is.” I sweep my hand over her cheek and smile because I do feel something stirring deep inside my cynical little heart. There’s a bit of life she brings clawing its way to the surface, and no matter how hard I try to beat it back down, I can’t. “I told you that you were different.”

  “Lines, Justin. I feel like that’s all a line. You are a romance author, after all. You’ve perfected the art of words.” She laughs. “If I’m honest, I think I fell for you long before I ever met you. I fell for your words.” She shakes her head. “How fucked up is that? Falling for a rock star, that seems like an idiotic thing to do, but, I’m starting to think that maybe falling for an author is a thousand times worse. They make a living from wooing you with their words, from making the most absurd lies believable.”

  And... shit. The water washes up, the waves crashing in a foam at our feet as the sun peeks above the rugged horizon of white caps. “All I can say is, I’m sorry, and I don’t want to make you feel that way, and I most certainly don’t want to lose you.”

  She stares at me. Her nostrils flare. Her pretty little eyes well with tears and all I want to do is kiss them away, right here under the rising sun, by the roaring ocean tides, because fuck, isn’t that something I would love to write in a book? It’s perfect, really, it is. And so, I lean in, the rough sand scraping against my leg as I take her face in my hand and pull her to me. “Kiss me,” I whisper, my lips brushing against hers.

  A slow breath leaks from her lips before she slams her mouth over mine. I kiss her. She kisses me. Our tongues dance in an angry clash of resentment and fear and want and need. And when I tear away from her for a breath, I look in her eyes. “Stay until tomorrow?” I ask.

  “My flight leaves at two.”

  “I don’t care. I’ll buy you another ticket. I just want another day with you here.”

  She bites down on her bottom lip, her cheeks blushing a subtle pink. “Okay... ”

  I smile and wrap my arm around her shoulder. “You know, when I was a kid, my mom used to bring me to the beach all the time. We’d collect shells.” I laugh.

  And we sit in silence, watching the tides rush in as the sun slowly creeps into the sky. If I could freeze this moment, I would because I feel peace, but I’m not stupid enough to think it will last. As much as I want love, well, I’m my own worst enemy.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Marisa

  “Great Escape”- Moby

  I couldn’t be happier right now. Toes in the sand. The rush of the tide in front of me. The rising sun reflecting off the water’s surface. And Justin—yes, Justin sitting right next to me. Last night proved to be quiet the game changer. I guess he didn’t like seeing someone else playing with one of his toys. His favorite toy. Oh, #HavingAGreatTimeWithAmy, you had your fun, but you are done, my sweets. Done. The warm water laps at my toes and I pull my feet back, dragging sand with me as I scoot closer to Justin and lean against his chest. “So, how do you like Florida?” he asks.

  “Love it. The heat. The ocean.” I sigh. “I could live here.”

  “Ah, now, you just got to New York. You can’t be ready to leave yet.” He kisses my neck. “Don’t leave me.”

  “What,” I giggle, “you wouldn’t follow me?”

  “Don’t ask me shit like that.”

  “Tell me you wouldn’t.”

  “I might would.” He inhales along my neck, tightening his hold. “I don’t know what it is about you, but you drive me fucking crazy.”

  And you drive me crazy, Justin. You have no idea... It pays off to be a hard-up bitch sometimes. Stand your ground. Let a guy see he can’t run all over you. And I know he’s serious because he’s changing my flight. He sent the blonde whore packing. You don’t do that for a fuckbuddy. Not even the best of players would pull a stunt like that. A $500 stunt.

  His phone beeps in his pocket and he pulls it out. The little blue screen lights up his face, and I want to swoon. His face, the waves roaring in front of us. The pure romance crackling right here. Right now. Between the two of us hopeless romantics. Hopeless romance authors at that. “Shit... ” he takes a breath before dropping his phone to the sand.

  “What’s wrong, babe?”

  “My publisher terminated my contract?” He exhales and sweeps his fingers through his thick hair. “Fuck!”

  “What? They did what?”

  He drags a hand down his face and shakes his head. “Demolished got leaked somehow. It’s on a shit-ton of pirating sites and the reviews—” he laughs a laugh filled with anger and self-doubt and hurt. And I feel guilty because he forced my hand to do that. He was too proud and full of himself. “The reviews are so awful the publisher said my first series must have been a fluke.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah, I’m fucked.” He folds his arms underneath his head and lies down on the sand, staring up at the sky. “I guess I’ll just have to hope this indie shit keeps trucking. Do more signings and all that crap.”

  More signings? More signings. More travel. More girls... “Oh, I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah.” He drags his hand through his hair. “Yeah, I hope so. I don’t know what else I would do.”

  “When’s your next signing?”

  “Next weekend. I’m flying straight from here to Cali. It made more sense to fly there from here, then back home, you know?”

  “Yeah . .” I think about him leaving, about him being at another signing on the other side of the country. A signing where no one knows who the hell Marisa Dawson is, and as I go over all the horrible scenarios in my head, I draw a circle in the sand and exhale. “Do you have an assistant?”

  “Yeah,” he says, “One of my readers, Terri Wethers, you know her, she’s the one that’s always sharing my releases and posts and stuff. I promised her she could help out a few months ago, she’s pretty excited. He laughs and I think I’ll have to be sure to check out Terri Wethers profile later.

  “That’s good.” I feign a smile even though my veins are pumping with resentment and hate. I know what he’ll do. These signings are like a den of heroin and he’s the drug addict.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Justin

  “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)”- Sleeping At Last

  The elevator doors slide open and I step out. Alone. Free... It’s not that I don’t like Marisa, I do, hell, bits of me love her. She’s gorgeous and sassy and smart, and the sex is incredible, but the chase. The chase is gone. That rush of endorphins from the not knowing has dwindled, and I crave that euphoria. The conquest. The boost to my ego, but I’m going to try my hand at signing celibacy because I like having her. At home. In Manhattan. On Water Street. But here...

  I grab a drink from the bar and head right through the sliding glass doors, out onto the warm pool deck. Women watch me. They whisper. They giggle and smile. And I love this. This is why it’s different in New York. In everyday life, I go to the store and no one pays me any mind. I sit on a crowded subway unnoticed. Sure, there’s the girl at the coffee shop. People at bookstores that will notice me, but for the most part, I go undetected. At these signings, I am a rock star. I’m the author of kick-ass books, who just so happens to be in phenomenal shape. In this arena, I have fame. And I eat that shit up like it’s fucking caviar. I flip my shades down, toss my towel onto a sun lounger, and flop back on the hot cushion. The warm California sun basks my skin with its radiant heat and I release a long, relaxing sigh as I take the first sip
of my mojito.

  “Wild! Fuck yeah, buddy. It’s Wild.”

  I glance over the top of my shades at Jarod Pierce, the only model I don’t think is a total douche canoe.

  “What’s up, bro,” I say with a grin.

  “Not much.” He sits on the empty lounger next to me, stretching out, his gaze skimming the perimeter of the pool. “Shit, there’s some hot babes at this one.”

  “Yeah, Cali, man. Cali.” I laugh. “What’ve you been up to? I haven’t seen you in months.”

  “Had to fall off the radar for a bit. Took some massive heat for that entire shitshow with Brianna.”

  “Ah, yeah, man. Brianna.” Jarod was banging this married chick, an author he shot a cover for. They kept insisting they were just friends, but everyone knew otherwise. Then he started screwing some reader named Gia. Brianna lost her shit. Slammed his name. Got half of her little cliché on his ass. “That’s why you don’t fuck with married women,” I say with a laugh.

  “Yeah, but she was just so damn hot and fuck... man, I fell in love with her.”

  “And yet... you fucked Gia?”

  “I mean,” he shrugs, “shit just happened. We started drinking. One thing lead to another and,” he motions his hand like he’s sliding into home base, “my dick has a mind of his own, what can I say?”

  “You’re a sick fuck, you know it?”

  “Yeah, we all are.” His gaze follows a trim waisted blonde prancing by. “I paid for it though,” he says. “That shit blew up. I had authors asking me to refund them for covers, saying they wouldn’t support a man who disrespected the ‘sanctity of marriage’. Photographers cancelled shoots. The whole nine yards.”

  “Damn, man.”

  “Yeah, but it’s calmed down now.” He punches me in the arm. “Anyway, what pussy are you pulling these days?”

  “Aw, you know... ”

  “Hell, I think you pull more than me and fucking Talon put together.” Him mentioning that name causes my jaw to clench. “How do you do it?” he asks.