Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
I snicker. “If that was you hurting me, then call me a masochist, baby.”
“Seriously, though. Tell the truth. I feel like maybe I was too rough on your face.”
I laugh. “Baby, no, you didn’t hurt me at all. That was the hottest thing, ever, and I can’t wait to do it again.”
Relieved, she throws her forearm over her forehead and giggles. “You’re amazing at sex.”
Well, yeah, I’ve had a lot of practice, I think. Although, come to think of it, I’m not normally much of a giver, when it comes to sex with someone I don’t give two shits about. So, in that sense, I can’t honestly say I’ve had much practice doing what I just did to Aubrey. I’ve done it before, obviously. But not for a very long time.
Aubrey snuggles close, interrupting my thoughts. “Before I came to you that first night, I didn’t expect you to be all that great at sex. You’ve really surprised me.”
“Excuse me? What about me made you think, even for a minute, I’d suck at sex? Also, why come to me at all, if you expected me to suck?”
She’s giggling uproariously. “I wanted to find out for myself. Honestly, I wanted you so badly by that point, I didn’t care if the report card on you turned out to be true or not.”
Shit. I don’t need to ask who supplied the “report card” to her. Claudia. Surely, Aubrey’s bestie had already told her every fucking detail about our brief encounter, so Aubrey assumed I’m always a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of guy. “Is Claudia always going to be lying here in bed with us?” I ask, feeling annoyed. “No matter what I do or say, am I never going to be able to shake my past sins, when it comes to you?”
Aubrey looks up at me, her features stricken. “No, I . . . I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”
I close my eyes. “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not. You’re right. That was out of line.” She pauses, apparently waiting for me to say something. When I don’t, she traces a fingertip down my bare chest and whispers, “If it makes you feel any better, Claudia also said you’ve got a massive dick.”
“It helps a bit.”
Aubrey giggles. “She also said she had the time of her life with you, despite you not giving a crap if she got off, too. So, at least, it wasn’t all bad news.”
I rough a hand over my face, realizing I’ve got to confront this latest ghost of my past, head-on, or I’m never going to stand a chance of leaving the past behind me, once and for all.
I tug gently on a lock of Aubrey’s hair. “Unfortunately, there are probably lots of women out there who’d give me the same report card as Claudia.” I sit up onto my elbow and look down at Aubrey’s moonlit face. “I’ve been pretty jaded about sex for a long time. Pretty jaded about women, in general. Once I got famous and rich, it felt like . . . I don’t know. It wasn’t possible to find someone who wanted me for me, so why bother? I’d already blown it with the only girl who’d ever loved me for me. The only girl I’d dated seriously before the band took off. Once I got famous, I knew I’d never have another chance at connecting with someone on a deeper level again, so I embraced that fact and accepted that I was now a trophy. A bucket list item. A story to tell friends. I know the world thinks it sounds fun to fuck a different woman in every city—”
“Who thinks that? That sounds gross.”
“It is. That’s my point. Sex for me hasn’t been fun or fulfilling for a very long time, so I’m not surprised my partners, including Claudia, were less than impressed.”
Aubrey processes that for a moment. “Remember when you wouldn’t tell me what you did to the only woman you’ve ever loved? I did some internet sleuthing to try to piece it together, and I think I’ve figured out the story. Is she Violet Morgan, the wife of the lead singer of 22 Goats?”
Welp, here we go. I didn’t mean to lead the conversation here, but that’s exactly what I did. “The internet’s got the story mostly wrong,” I say. “There was never a love triangle between Dax, Violet, and me. Violet had already broken up with me, long before she met Dax. Dax never ‘stole’ Violet from me, and I never horned in on his relationship with her.”
“Did Dax really write that song ‘Judas’ about you—in response to your ‘Fuck you, Judas’ tweet? You posted it around the same time photos of Dax and Violet were first splashed all over the gossip blogs.”
“You’ve done your homework.”
Aubrey shrugs. “Seems like it was big news, at the time.”