One More Time Page 5

  Inside, I was going wild. My subconscious was running victory laps while cheering about our date with Caleb Larsen, but on the outside, I maintained complete composure.

  “It’s a date,” I said, then felt my cheeks heat as I realized that I’d said it out loud.

  Caleb smirked, gracefully rising to his feet, and cocked a brow at me. “I thought I was an interview.”

  “Yeah, of course. That’s what I meant, a date for the interview.”

  He didn’t buy it. I could tell. But he had the good sense to shut up about it. Caleb said his goodbyes and walked his sexy ass out of the conference room while I was left to gather my things and my composure.

  Whatever. It’s totally a date.

  Chapter 7

  Caleb

  Kelly looked hot. I’d been amused at her, “it’s a date” comment after our interview, but she’d dressed like she’d taken it to heart. When I’d called her yesterday to suggest a little lobster joint I knew down by the beach, I’d expected her to arrive straight from work in her usual skinny jeans and tight, old band T-shirt getup that she seemed to favor.

  That wasn’t what I got. And though I thought her usual style was quirky and funky—plus, she had very similar tastes to mine when it came to old music—the dress she’d chosen to wear for the continuation of our interview spoke more to my dick than my brain.

  It was difficult to remember that this night wasn’t going to end with me fucking her when her cleavage sat high and proud and deep, her curvy hips swaying as she approached me at our table. The dress she was wearing was longer than most I saw on girls at clubs, more demure, but it was sexy in its own right.

  It was a white and navy dress that she’d paired with red heels and bright red lipstick. Still quirky, still Kelly, but Kelly with a sexy twist.

  I wouldn’t have guessed that she had it in her, but it sure looked like she did. I also didn’t really know her, so it shouldn’t have surprised me that she did.

  “Hey,” she said cheerfully, sliding into the seat across from me without waiting for either me or the waiter behind her to slide it out for her. I’d already been halfway out my seat because my mama raised us as gentlemen, even if it would be hard to tell most times, and the waiter had darted for the chair, but Kelly was already seated.

  Lowering my ass back to my own seat, I couldn’t help but admire how smoothly and confidently she’d pulled that off. She was no damsel in distress, this one. “Hey. You’re right on time.”

  A quick glance at the clock on the wall behind her told me that she was exactly, to the minute, on time. None of that making you wait shit some women were into.

  She frowned, then gave me a curious smile. “You said seven. What’s the point of agreeing to a time if you’re not going to stick to it?”

  “I agree. You’d just be surprised at how many people ignore details like that.”

  Kelly rolled her eyes to the ceiling and smiled when she returned them to mine. “I know. There’s no such thing as fashionably late though. You’re either on time, or you’re late.”

  “Agreed. Drink?”

  The waiter who’d been hovering, looking like he was wondering whether to ask Kelly to stand just so he could help her into her seat, jumped to attention and appeared between us at the table.

  “Sure. I’ll have a club soda please.” Kelly ordered her drink, again not waiting on me, and she gave the waiter a kind smile and inclined her head to me.

  “Belvedere. With a twist.”

  The penguin-suited waiter scribbled down our orders on his notepad, nodded, and hurried away. The place I’d chosen for dinner was low-key, fancy enough to be passable and not worried about food poisoning, but relaxed enough that it didn’t make you feel like you had to sit upright or speak softly.

  I hated anything more upscale than this, and as a rule, I stayed away from places like that. Kelly fished her tablet out of her duffel-sized handbag and began tapping on the screen with her stylus. Before she could ask me a question though, I jumped in. “You don’t drink?”

  If she was surprised at the question, she didn’t show it. She shrugged and shook her head. “No, I drink. I just don’t drink when I’m working.”

  “You’re considering this as being on the clock?”

  “Of course. We said this was an interview to see how you are in a different context, right?”

  “Right.” I knew she was interviewing me tonight, but somehow, I was thinking she’d also relax just a little. “If I’m in a different context though, then you should be too. Deal?”

  The waiter delivered our drinks to the table, and instead of answering my question, Kelly addressed him. “And I’ll have a glass of red wine as well, please.”

  The man nodded and left us. Kelly grinned at me like she’d won at something. “Happy now?”

  “I’m always happy.” What a fucking lie, and from the look she gave me, she knew it. “Fire away then. You look like you’re eager to get started.”

  Nodding, she pressed the small button on the side of her tablet to bring it back to life, but instead of reading from its screen, she looked around the restaurant. “So you’re a lobster guy, huh? Should’ve guessed, fancy food for a fancy star.”

  “I never said I was fancy.”

  The waiter delivered her wine, and she nodded her thanks before answering me. “You’re right. You didn’t say it. I did.”

  “It’s not that fancy. I actually like this place and the lobster because I like the metaphor.” Well, that wasn’t something that I told just anyone. But fuck it, they all wanted me to play up this angle. I would show Kelly exactly where and why Jared and I differed.

  “Metaphor?” She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and focused her puzzled eyes on mine. I’d never noticed before how deep green they were, almost like a forest reflected in the shallows of a lake. Or some shit like that. They were pretty. That was all.

  It was also then that I noticed she wasn’t wearing the impenetrable mask of makeup most women wore nowadays. Except for the bright lipstick and a few tiny clumps of mascara in her long lashes, her face was bare. And looking slightly confused as she waited for an answer.

  “Metaphor because lobster used to be considered a ‘common food.’ Even so disgusting to some that it was something that you fed to prisoners and poor people because it was so abundant.” I waited for realization of what I was saying to dawn.

  When it did, her eyebrows drew together, and she scribbled furiously on the tablet screen.

  “Familiarity bred contempt,” I said. “People only liked it once it got rarer, or lived in areas where it was hard to get.”

  “And you’re wondering if Destitute is sort of like lobster?” She’d put it all together remarkably fast.

  I nodded. “We used to be smaller, rarer. People loved us. Now we’re everywhere, and I can’t help but wonder if we’ll be the opposite of lobsters.”

  “That seems like a bit of a gloomy outlook on things, don’t you think? I mean, you’re everywhere now, and people still can’t get enough. They’re always after more, stalking your pages on social media, camping outside of places you’re supposed to do interviews at or perform. It doesn’t seem like familiarity is breeding contempt at all.”

  “It’s not a gloomy outlook. It’s a realistic outlook. The album just dropped, and the tour’s just starting. How long do you really think the kind of hype around us now can survive? What goes up, must come down. Even the hottest flames burn out after a while. You know all the rest of those examples.”

  “So, what you’re saying is, you don’t know how much longer Destitute’s star will burn bright?” Again, she just got it. So damn fast.

  I nodded and took a long swig of my drink. Talking about this stuff to anyone other than Jared made my skin itch and dark corners feel like they were closing in on me. “Exactly. We’re burning brighter than I ever thought we would. I’m just not sure how long this kind of burn can last.”

  “You didn’t think Destitute w
ould get this big?”

  “Truth? No. I didn’t think we’d reach the level of fame that we have. Every morning that I wake up to find one of our ugly mugs on the news or see some person throwing themselves in our direction for a selfie or an autograph, it’s a surprise.”

  As was the fact that I was being this honest with her. Building hype and playing an angle was one thing, but somehow, we’d veered into personal territory that hadn’t been ventured on before. Ever. Except in the dark of night while I was lying in bed. I’d sure as fuck never gone there with anyone else before.

  “It shouldn’t be a surprise. I’ve been watching you guys since you started breaking out. You’ve all put in some serious blood, sweat, and maybe even concealed tears to get to where you are. You should be proud of that. Your success has been hard earned.”

  “There have been no tears,” I objected with a wry smile, though I didn’t know if that was true. There’d been no tears for me, sure. But I more than made up for it with the amount of blood and sweat I’d put in. “Everyone always thinks they have what it takes to succeed in a band and that that’s what they really want, but it’s not like most people really feel that way in their heart of hearts.”

  “Did you?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? But no, I didn’t.” Shit. This was getting way too personal, way too deep. I had to get this conversation—this interview—back on track. “But maybe Jared did. Maybe that’s what separates us.”

  Kelly chewed my answer over for a minute, both of our glasses now empty. I ordered another round, and it was delivered before she leaned forward over the table, giving me a spectacular eyeful of her glorious cleavage before she noticed that she wasn’t wearing her usual well-covering T-shirt, frowned, and to my great disappointment, sat back again.

  “It’s very revealing, all of this. I’ve never thought about fame quite that way. I used to be fascinated by the glamor of rock. I admired it, but even if I knew there was more to it than the glamor, seeing it like this is something else.”

  “Not so shiny up close, is it?” It was a loaded question, but she recognized it for what it was, pausing to take a long sip of wine before nodding her agreement.

  “Not at all.”

  The waiter was back after that, and I ordered for us, waiting to see if Kelly would object to my doing so. She didn’t, but she did add a few items to the order after I was done.

  Kelly was a one-of-a-kind woman. I could already see that. She was totally, one hundred percent herself, fearlessly so. It was refreshing. I didn’t know how only a couple of days ago, I’d thought she was kind of hot. She wasn’t.

  She was a fucking killer. And sexy as hell to boot. As I watched her pop lobster between those plump, red lips, my mind went straight to the gutter, and it stayed there throughout our meal.

  I didn’t have a food thing or anything, but watching Kelly giggle and eat and truly savor the food in a way most women wouldn’t dare in front of me, seeing her relax into the conversation and not notice when her dress slid down a tiny bit, it was all hot as hell.

  My dick was straining against my zipper by the time our plates were cleared, and Kelly declined coffee. Knowing that meant that our night was almost over, I immediately abandoned my earlier thoughts of this night ending without me fucking her. That wasn’t happening. Not anymore.

  “You ready to call it a night, or do you wanna come back to my place?”

  Kelly froze with her napkin dabbed to her lips, lowered it slowly, and seemed to be having a hard time formulating an answer. “You want me to come back to your place?”

  “If you want to, why not?”

  “Oh, I get it,” she said, her easy smile back in place as she kept her light, joking tone. “This is just another brotherly rivalry of sorts, is it?”

  This was sure as fuck not about Jared, but hadn’t I been thinking it would annoy him if I slept with her? Since honesty seemed to have been the theme of the night, I kept to it. “Maybe, but it doesn’t change the facts. I want you. You gonna lie and say you don’t want me too?”

  Chapter 8

  Kelly

  I didn’t lie to him. Instead, I’d cracked a joke and told him that what I wanted was to see where the magic happened. I’d meant his practicing his guitar, but then I’d gone and blushed and given the whole joke away.

  To his credit, Caleb didn’t give me a hard time about it. He’d paid the bill, ignoring my protests that I cover my part, gave me his address, and then waited for me to pull up behind him in the parking lot.

  He was being different tonight, more approachable. He’d actually talked to me openly before dinner, and though he’d seemed a bit distracted later while we ate, we still had a perfectly pleasant evening.

  A perfectly pleasant evening that was ending with me pulling into his driveway at his surprisingly modestly sized Hollywood Hills home. My pulse thundered through my veins, and my heart threw itself against my ribs.

  Because holy crap! Caleb freaking Larsen, the world’s current favorite guitar son, invited me to his place after dinner. That kind of shit didn’t happen to girls like me, except it was, and I had no idea how to handle it. This was supposed to have been nothing more than an interview, and now I was on my way home with him.

  There was no way I was going to be able to keep my journalistic distance, but I’d decided to throw caution to the wind and play along with whatever it was that was going on here.

  Caleb’s jet-black truck was parked outside a garage wide enough to take three cars, and I rolled up behind him in my beat-up Beetle. It seemed impossible that it was really him, subject of my biggest celebrity crush, leaning casually against his truck, waiting for me to park and join him.

  He looked so effortlessly cool in his black jeans, black button down, and undone combat boots. Black leather adorned both wrists, and his hair was wild and windswept, like he’d driven all the way home with his windows open.

  My engine sputtered to a stop, and in a few long, sure strides, Caleb was pulling on the handle of my door and opening it for me. I didn’t need him to do that. I was perfectly capable of opening my own doors, but it was both surprising and fascinating to me that he kept making these gestures.

  I stepped out of the car, cursing myself for probably the twentieth time that I’d chosen to wear the heels that pinched my baby toes when I stood, but in the excitement of getting ready for dinner, the memory of the toe-torture wasn’t nearly as bad as the reality of it was.

  Trying not to wince, I teetered along the stone path that led to his front door and followed him inside. He pushed through the inconspicuous looking narrow wooden door and turned toward me once we were inside. “So this is it.”

  He tossed his keys into a small ceramic bowl on the table by the door and started flicking on lights. It took me a second to register what I was seeing. Which was… not much.

  The house itself was stunning, with large rooms and larger windows that allowed for unobstructed views of the city. It had wooden flooring and modern finishes. The entire living/dining area opened up to a big deck with one of those endless pools that sat right at the very edge.

  It was beautiful, but echo-ey. Because for as gorgeous as the house was, it was also very empty.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said, knowing better than to bring up his lack of stuff. If I’d learned something about Caleb during dinner, it was that there was a lot more to him, a lot more going on in his head than one might initially think.

  “Thanks. You’re not gonna ask?” His voice was flat, and he was regarding me with wary eyes, watching me take in all the wide-open spaces with an expression that screamed “Leave it fucking be.” So that was exactly what I did.

  “Nope. I was promised a drink though. You got one of those?”

  While he didn’t smile, his features did relax some as he nodded. He led me through his living area, pushed open the stackable glass doors, and stepped out onto the deck. In the corner, there was a decently sized bar stocked with all m
anners of scotch and beer, but not much in the way of wine.

  “Beer okay?” he asked, stepping behind the counter and emerging with two bottles from the fridge behind it.

  “Perfect.” Uncapping my beer, he handed it to me, and I took a long swig, looking out at the city’s lights twinkling below and stretching on forever. “This is a spectacular view. You must love it out here.”

  “I do,” Caleb said, moving out from behind the bar to stand next to me. Together, we ambled over to the railing and stood silently side by side. From the looks of things, Caleb didn’t have a garden, only the large deck. It suited him. I couldn’t exactly imagine him singing lullabies to plants or whatever it was green-thumbed people did.

  Caleb wordlessly reached for me, winding one strong arm around my waist as he pulled me closer. Shifting his body to make room for me in front of him, he slotted me in between the railing and his big body like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he’d done it a million times before.

  Because he probably has, a snippy little voice in the back of my head said. Just not with you.

  Still, even if it was highly likely that it was true, I couldn’t bring myself to care—not really. Not when every inch of me was so very aware of the hard, masculine body pressed against me. Caleb felt so much different than the other guys I’d been intimate with before, and he was still just holding me. His body was tall and lean, towering like a sentinel over mine.

  One of his large hands was planted on my hip while the other was drawing lazy circles over my stomach. Bending his head down, his lips brushed against the shell of my ear, his voice low when he spoke.

  “You know that if anything happens here, it’s just fun, right? Nothing serious.”

  “Nothing serious,” I repeated, trying to remember the English language as the hand on my hip traveled lower and the one on my stomach higher. He wasn’t touching me. He was simply stroking my skin lightly, making me hyperaware of all the spots he wasn’t touching.