Chapter 7
seven
. . .
Sand Pancakes
“The best way to get over a man is to get under a new one. Or, in my case, start a new book.”
~Emily Lane
Emily
Raising my hands over my head, I yawned, my body super sore from the shenanigans Jake and I had gotten up to last night both on the beach and after we snuck into the beach house.
God, it’d been epic.
He’d literally rocked my world. I was dizzy from the experience, my limbs still tingling from the multiple orgasms Jake had given me.
Last night I realized I’d never had an orgasm with a man—but now I had …
with Jake. The memory of his intensity made my heart race, but the emptiness of the bed beside me caught me off guard.
Looking around Jake’s room, I took a deep breath, sucking in the salty beach air coming in through the open window. They gave him the master off the side of the beach house with its own patio and bathroom, complete with a Jacuzzi tub. It was luxurious, but without him here, it felt hollow.
It was quiet; Jake must be in the kitchen or with the rest of the band. What time was it? I grinned. I’d had so much fun I didn’t even know the time! Take that, Lizzy Bennet!
Time would only tell, though, if this rockstar could be my Darcy.
It scared me to think about, but I couldn’t stop myself.
I wanted it. The fun, the companionship and certainly the sex!
Could I fall in love with someone like him?
The idea of wanting someone so untouchable made my chest tighten with fear.
What would it be like dating a rockstar?
Especially one as sexy as him, with groupies and women draping themselves all over him.
Would I be able to trust him on tour and working wherever in the world he was?
Or would it turn me into a basket case? The uncertainty gnawed at me, threatening to overshadow the magic of last night.
Long distance would suck. But, oh, that dick might be worth it!
That’s if it was even something he wanted. I’d ferret out how he felt over coffee. Speaking of coffee ….
Sliding from beneath the covers, I shuffled around until I found my sarong and slipped it around my body, my ridiculous underwear nowhere in sight. Going commando felt like a metaphor for my vulnerability, making me feel exposed.
Leaving the room, I went in search of my rockstar hookup. The beach house was so huge—more like a beach mansion.
I went from one room to the next, dodging sleeping bodies scattered on the floor like casualties strewn on the battlefield. Wow, these guys really liked to party. The aftermath of their revelry was in stark contrast with the intimacy I’d shared with Jake.
Walking through the house, I searched the kitchen and the living room, but found Zara on the patio, asleep, draped across a canopied wicker chaise.
I sat next to her, shaking her awake. She jerked, her eyes popping as wide as quarters.
Realizing it was me sitting next to her, she grinned and sat up.
“Hello there, Care Bear, ” she said the nickname slow and exaggerated, trying to mimic Jake’s voice; her teasing made me smile.
“Shut up!” I punched her arm, blushing.
Zara sighed, leaning back with such a relaxed look on her face. “Last night was so much fun.”
“Did you and Rowan have a good time?” I asked, ribbing her.
She arched an eyebrow. “How about you and Mr. Steele? Care to kiss and tell?”
I dropped my face into my hands and fell into her, giggling hysterically. It was hard enough thinking about what happened, but actually talking about it ?
“Oh, my God, Zara! Things like this don’t happen to me,” I cried into my hands, the words coming out with hysterical joy.
How did I explain what it felt like between us?
How he’d sung to me, and I'd actually sang to him? It’d been like stepping into one of my romance novels, and I was terrified it was all a dream.
“I hate to break it to you, Em, but they do now. Judging by your expression, I guess his reputation is well-deserved.”
My heart stopped. “Reputation?” I pulled away from her, tilting my head in confusion.
Zara lifted a hand to my arm and squeezed gently. “Honey, he’s a rockstar. Every rockstar has a past, and a reputation?—”
“And well earned.”
I heard a voice call out from behind me and turned my head. The woman who spoke looked as disheveled as I felt—her dress askew, metal-hair bedhead, and her makeup doing a great raccoon impression. Her smug tone grated on me, as if she was trying to shatter my fragile hope.
“What do you mean?” I asked, feeling defensive. I didn’t like this stranger butting into our conversation and especially didn’t like her talking about this man who’d been the star of a very special night for me.
The look she gave me was a mixture of confusion and pity. “Oh, honey … you don’t think fuckin’ one of these boys meant something, do you?”
My heart fell. Yes, actually—I had. Memories of the night before flew through my brain at light speed, followed by waking up alone this morning, searching the beach house to find no one from the band, and not even a note left by the bed.
The absence of any trace of Jake felt like a betrayal, and I hated how much it hurt.
I felt foolish waking up hoping I’d find him next to me, wanting to spend more time with me.
“Hey, shut the fuck up. You don’t know what went down,” Zara said, standing up and getting into the woman’s face.
She threw her hands up in a motion of surrender and backed away. “Hey, I’m just saying. It’s not like a rockstar’s gonna bang a groupie and give her his phone number. Trust me.”
“Why? Because you make the rounds?” Zara’s voice was getting nasty. I had to do something.
Standing, I put an arm between Zara and the disheveled woman. “Hey! Stop it. We’re both suffering from morning-after syndrome. Don’t get your back up.”
The woman pressed her hand over her hair, trying to tame the mess. “It’s nothing personal. I just wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you. Especially if he didn’t give you his phone number or ask for yours.”
It was true. There’d been no exchange of phone numbers, emails, or even snail mail addresses.
No way to contact each other. He knew where I went to school, who my best friend was, and that’s it—none of that would aid him in contacting me.
The realization hit like an icy wave, washing away any residual warmth from last night, making me shiver in the early morning heat.
“Just get out of here, bitch!” Zara snarled at the disheveled groupie. The woman straightened her dress strap, shrugged and walked off .
Taking Zara’s hand, I pulled her down to the chaise and sat next to her. For a minute, she didn’t meet my eyes, staring at the beach instead. When she looked at me, I could see her heart. Her empathy was a lifeline, but it didn’t erase the sting.
Had she liked Rowan, too? That didn’t seem like my BFF. She was usually more into the laissez-faire lifestyle.
“He left a few marks?” I meant on her heart, but the grin on her face said she was thinking differently.
“Oh, yeah. It’ll take a few weeks for those bruises to fade?—”
“Zara!”
“Oh, don’t act innocent now. You and Jake came back from the beach in the middle of the night looking like a couple of sand pancakes flipped too many times.”
She was right. I’d been flipped—a lot.
“Not anymore, I guess,” I said, feeling the sadness of his leaving like he did. “What do I do now?” I asked her, unsure of how to recover from this.
Zara squeezed my hand and smiled. “We go to our hotel, shower and change for the day. Then hit the beach, drink margaritas and read Pride and Prejudice .” Her plan was a balm. A return to the comfort of the familiar.
I shot to my feet. “Yes!” Darcy would make this better. He made everything better. But even as I agreed, I wondered if Darcy’s perfection could ever compare to Jake’s raw—and real—intensity.