Promised Intent Page 2

  I had already been conditioned to hide my tears—truthfully, Kasen had been the only one I ever trusted to show them to—and I never let anyone close enough to see the truth of my life, while I racked my brain for how and when I could get away. When the opportunity to get the hell out of dodge arose, I took it. I just never realized that opportunity was attached to a guy who was a younger, more deceptively charming version of my father.

  I’m ashamed of how long it took me to see Dean’s true colors, to finally make the connection that I tied myself to a man just like my abusive father—they never used their fists, but my God were their tongue lashings volatile weapons that inevitably always made me feel small and worthless.

  But I’m not that girl anymore.

  I don’t take shit from anyone, and I need to make sure my hard-ass reputation isn’t sullied by this arrangement I’ve stupidly agreed to in the name of fulfilling a promise to an old friend. I’ve spent nearly fifteen years thinking he abandoned me when I needed him most, and it’s hard to let go of some of that pain, even knowing now that there’s likely a lot more to the story than I know. Still, I’m anxious about being vulnerable with him, and I need to make sure we have clear rules in place to protect myself. If anyone could have the power to truly shatter me, it’s the man who used to be the only one in the world I could trust.

  The phone feels heavy in my hand as my thumb hovers over the call button. I don’t know Kasen anymore. I know he’s been through some shit, but who the fuck hasn’t? The bigger question is how has that shit shaped who he is now? Is he still the honorable and trustworthy boy I made a promise to all those years ago?

  A promise to always be there for him, no matter what.

  Unfortunately, there’s only one way to find out.

  I press on the button and then bring the phone up to my ear, hearing it ring once, twice, three times before he picks up, his voice groggy like he was sleeping, which is possible given that it’s…midnight, according to my phone. Shit, I should’ve saved this call for tomorrow.

  I’m choosing to ignore the warmth sliding down my spine at the sound of his husky voice.

  “Hey, it’s Mel. Sorry, uh, to call you so late. I didn’t realize what time it was until you answered.”

  “It’s fine,” he says and there’s some muffled movement like he’s shifting in bed. “What’s up?”

  “I think we need to set some terms for this arrangement.”

  A beat passes. “Right now?” His voice isn’t angry, more curious and maybe a little confused.

  “Uh, no. We could talk about it tomorrow, I guess.”

  He yawns and then mumbles. “Tomorrow would be better. I’m beat and doubt I can think clearly right now. How ’bout you meet me at this great coffee place in Venice that I love. It’s right on the beach and the best way to start the day.”

  “Sure.”

  “Great.” He pauses, yawning again. “I’ll text you the address. Meet you at ten a.m.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “Night, Melly,” he mumbles, his voice already getting sleepy and rough again. I once again ignore the heat the sound sends through my body.

  “Night, Kase.”

  I end the call and pull my phone away to stare at it before I settle back in my bed. I cover my face with both hands and then groan. Why the fuck was I so awkward just now? So unsure and unsteady? That’s not the woman I’ve worked incredibly hard to be.

  Deciding I’m going to be no-nonsense Mel tomorrow, I switch off my lamp and attempt to get some sleep.

  The coffee shop is light and airy and right on the beach. My eyes immediately land on Kasen’s tall frame, and I’m grateful for the dark tint of my sunglasses that no doubt hides how my gaze devours every inch of him. Kasen always had a big personality as a kid, despite being raised by his grandma and the drama with his mom. But he was short and lanky when I knew him.

  He’s most definitely not short and lanky now, as he stands with his back leaning against the wall near the front door of the coffee shop, one leg bent with his foot resting on the gray concrete siding.

  His arms are thick and covered with his colorful tattoos that I’m sure tell a story. He was always drawing on himself in permanent marker when we were kids and telling me what it meant. My heart lurches knowing we don’t have that kind of relationship anymore. We may be spending more time together now because of the tour and this little arrangement of ours, but that doesn’t change the fact we haven’t been friends in a long time.

  We don’t know each other anymore. It’s as simple and as complicated as that.

  My stride quickens when his gaze lands on me. Unlike other people lingering around, he’s not distracted by his phone. He’s focused solely on me, and it makes my heart beat a little faster to be the object of his attention.

  No. No soft Melrose. It’s time to be the hard-ass you’re known for.

  Throwing my shoulders back, I strengthen my resolve and walk determinedly to him. The corner of his mouth tilts ever so slightly in a smirk, but he wipes it away with his hand and opens the door to the coffee shop without a word.

  We order our drinks and then take them outside, still not speaking to each other. It should feel awkward or uncomfortable, but it doesn’t. It feels oddly like we’re in sync—like we don’t need to fill the air with meaningless words but can save our breath for the important conversation we both know is coming.

  It reminds me of when we were young. When he could read me like an open book.

  We sit at a table and stare out at the beach, watching the seagulls, the surfers, and a group of teenage girls taking selfies.

  “So you wanted to talk terms,” he breaks the silence, his lips lingering above his coffee cup before he takes a small sip.

  I take a sip to buy myself some time and then respond. “Yeah. I think it’s important we’re on the same page about expectations and how this is going to work. I’m not willing to sacrifice my career or reputation.”

  He frowns. “I’m not asking you to.” His mouth moves and his tongue piercing appears between his teeth before disappearing back in his mouth, almost like a nervous gesture. “Do you think my reputation is so bad it’s going to drag down yours? Because that’s not my intention, and if that’s what you’re worried about, I can find someone else.”

  I hate how the idea of him with someone else makes my stomach immediately tighten painfully. “No, I’m not worried.” It’s not entirely the truth. I’m a little worried because he already has me feeling off-kilter. “I just think we need to be clear about what’s allowed and what’s not.”

  He watches me for a minute, his steely gray eyes searching mine like he can see inside my soul. “Okay, what are your terms?”

  “No PDA.”

  He arches a brow quizzically. “How do you expect to sell this to the band if we don’t hold hands or show any kind of affection toward each other?”

  “Plenty of couples keep things discreet. Look at Prince William and Kate Middleton.”

  His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and would probably reach outer space if they weren’t attached to his face. “Did I miss the memo when we became royalty?”

  I let out a small huff of annoyance. “You know what I mean.”

  “Is the idea of kissing me again that repulsive?”

  Again. That single word throws me back to a different time in my life. A time when I was a completely different person with different hopes and dreams that died a quick death one December night when my mother decided to burn our life to the ground.

  It’s been so long since I thought about that first awkward kiss that Kasen gave me—my first kiss ever, his too. I still remember his soft fingers cupping my cheek before he dipped his head down and placed his lips against mine like I was delicate and precious to him.

  No one has ever made me feel like that since, which is probably why I blocked it out.

  “I don’t do PDA. End of story. So you either agree, or we call this off.”

  His eyes see too much, so I turn my gaze to look out at the ocean while I take a nonchalant sip of my coffee, pretending my insides don’t feel like a nest of snakes curling in my gut.

  “Alright. I agree.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But we need to show affection on the bus at least if we’re going to sell this. The guys aren’t dumb. If we never touch each other, they’ll figure out it’s fake.”

  “As long as no one outside the band can see us, that’s fine.”

  “Kissing? The guys make out with their women all the time. They’ll expect us to as well, especially in the privacy of the bus. I can sell that you’re not down for public displays of affection, but I won’t be able to convince them that applies to the privacy of our own quarters away from fans and cameras.”

  I straighten my spine and nod in agreement. This whole story will fall apart faster than a celebrity marriage if we don’t show some kind of intimacy with each other. “Fine, kissing on the bus in front of the band will be allowed. But no tongue,” I tack on with a point of my finger. If he slides his tongue in my mouth with that fucking tongue ring, I’ll melt like ice cream on a hot summer day. Tongue will make the kiss too intimate—too real. We can’t go there.

  “Anything else,” he asks, his jaw ticking like he’s biting back other words he wants to spit out.

  “No sex, obviously.”

  “Obviously.”

  His hard gaze watches me carefully, and my heart quickens its pace.

  “We need to agree on our story,” I say, my voice composed after years of practice keeping my shit together when my whole body is tied up in knots.

  Never let them see your weaknesses.

  Not even the boy who made you feel treasured once upon a time.

  “How long have we been together?”

  Without hesitation he says, “Two months. I reached out to you a few months after we were first reintroduced and asked you out for coffee and the rest is history. I’ll explain that I didn’t want to bring it up to them because we didn’t know where things would go, and we didn’t want to make it awkward for the band if it was just a fling.”

  I try to keep my breathing under control, but I can’t help but wonder how long he’s been thinking about this to have his answer so immediately ready.

  He scratches the back of his neck. “They might be a little pissed I hooked up with our new tour manager, but it’s something I would’ve done years ago without worrying about repercussions. Although…”

  “You were high back then?” I fill in the blank.

  He nods, and his jaw moves in that way which tells me he’s playing with his tongue ring again. Definitely a nervous gesture.

  “Are you worried they’ll think you’re too much like the old Kasen?”

  He swipes one of his large hands down his face and then crosses his arms. “No. I agreed to weekly drug tests. They know I’m still sober. I just don’t want them to feel like they have to watch my every move anymore.” He clears his throat, obviously uncomfortable. “Any other terms or things we need to nail down?”

  “I don’t think so,” I say, keeping my back straight and my body stiff, even as my fingers twitch with the desire to slide across the table and reach for his hand. To offer him comfort the way we always used to. But I can’t do that because we aren’t the people we used to be.

  This is just a deal. It’s not real, and I definitely need to avoid showing him any kind of affection when it’s not necessary, and certainly not in such a public setting.

  I need to remember that none of this is real, not even the glimmer of friendship we may have started again. I’m just keeping a promise to an old friend.

  It’s not real.

  4

  For something that’s supposed to be fake, it feels painfully real. Sitting at the cafe with Mel yesterday felt comfortable, familiar, freeing even. I was annoyed she shut down kissing so quickly—even if I got her to reluctantly agree to closed-mouth kissing in front of the band—although I shouldn’t be. We haven’t been anything significant to each other in a long time.

  But it bothered me more than it should that she was so against the idea—and that’s a problem because this whole arrangement is fake. I’m not supposed to feel anything at all. She was supposed to be a safe choice—someone I could be open with without worrying that she’d run to the press about my struggles—but after only two brief interactions with her, I’m second-guessing my decision. She makes me feel things I haven’t felt in a long time, and that’s the exact opposite of everything our arrangement is supposed to be.

  I knock on Trent’s front door, my body antsy with anticipation and nerves. After my announcement today, there’s no taking it back—we’re in this thing for the next six months. I really hope I’m not making a huge mistake. I’m about to knock again when I hear a voice shout behind me. I spin around to see Tristan and Miles walking toward me, bright smiles on their faces.

  It’s nice to see them both so happy. Miles has always been a chill fucker, but Tamsin has brought out a happiness in him that he never had before. Tristan is probably the most changed. He was always moody, closed off, seemingly untouchable. We’d both been considered the players of the band. I’m not sure the other guys realized he used sex like he was scratching an itch. It was methodical and meaningless. Whereas I was so high every time I had sex that most of my experiences are clouded by a drug fog to the point that I don’t know what was real versus something I saw in porn.

  But ever since Tristan and Jolie got together, it’s like he’s completely transformed. He radiates happiness and contentment. Rarely does that small smile leave his face, and while I’m happy for him, it’s also a little disheartening. I’ve spent a lot of time in the last year and a half focusing on my feelings, and I hate the one that rolls through me seeing these two guys so lit up with love.

  I’m jealous as fuck.

  “You just get here?” Tris asks.

  “Yeah. I knocked, but there was no answer.”

  Tris frowns. “Weird. I know he’s home. I called him an hour ago and he said he was just gonna be hanging out at home until we came over.”

  I knock again and we wait another minute before I raise my hand to knock for a third time. Before my fist connects, the door swings open revealing a disheveled Trent. His clothes were obviously thrown on haphazardly, his hair is a mess, and he’s got a hickey on his neck.

  He must know because he acknowledges what my gaze has landed on with a lazy smile. “My wife likes to make sure other women know I’m taken, which I find hot as fuck and encourage as often as possible.”

  Becka comes up behind him, looking only slightly more put together, but her lips are red and swollen and her cheeks are flushed, giving away exactly why Trent was late coming to the door.

  Miles chuckles behind me, and Tristan just shakes his head but can’t seem to wipe his smile off his face. “You couldn’t wait until after our band meeting?” he asks.

  Trent just shrugs unapologetically. “Sorry, guys.” Based on his tone and the satisfied look in his eyes, he’s not all that sorry.

  Suddenly that jealous feeling intensifies until it’s hard to breathe. But it’s more than their ability to fall in love with amazing women.

  It’s their ability to feel happiness at all.

  I can’t actually remember the last time I was happy, which is depressingly pathetic.

  I try to tamp down the heavy feeling of being so completely surrounded by something I don’t—can’t—have.

  I don’t deserve to be happy, and I sure as hell have nothing to offer a woman. My life has become a series of mistakes one after the other and choices I regret more with every breath I take.

  Trent ushers us inside, and I force my body to move forward, just like I have every day since I woke up in that hospital bed experiencing rock bottom.

  We gather in his living room, and before he has a chance to talk about the tour that we’re leaving for in less than a week, I speak. “I have an announcement.”

  Everyone stares at me intently, and it’s the sight of fear and the subtle ways their bodies tense up that make me feel like the biggest piece of shit. But it also firms my resolve that this plan with Mel needs to happen.

  My knee bounces restlessly. “I wanted to be open about the fact that Melrose and I are dating.”

  Crickets.

  My gaze darts between each of the guys, my nerves ratcheting up with every second of silence, but they remain frozen in their seats, staring at me. Tristan’s the one who finally breaks the silence.

  “Melrose, our new tour manager? That Melrose?”

  I nod.

  “When did this happen?” Miles asks. It’s not accusatory, but cautious.

  “About two months ago. You know we were friends when we were kids. We reconnected and one thing led to another. We didn’t want to say anything unless it got serious.” The lie rolls off my tongue easily, and just knowing she’ll be by my side through the tour calms me until my knee finally settles.

  “And that’s what it is? Serious?” Trent asks, his gaze watching me like a hawk and something in his tone making me think he’s not buying this story.

  “Yes.”

  “And if you two break up while we’re on tour?” His tone couldn’t be clearer now. He’s expecting me to screw up again. His words drip with barely held back disappointment that I’m setting us all up for a letdown. I feel about two feet tall knowing this is what my life has come to—I’m a constant disappointment to the point where the people in my life are always thinking ahead to the worst. If I’m going to sell this story, then I can’t let the hurt and resignation show. I’ve come too far to turn around now.