I feel like the universe is seriously fucking with me because she isn’t just my type.
She’s a goddamn fantasy I wasn’t even aware I had come to life.
She crosses her arms, pushing those tits that fill my hands perfectly higher. “I prefer original creator of the song you stole, but Lennon’s fine, too.”
And there it is.
I knew she heard it. There was no way she didn’t. Not only because of her intense love of rock music, but we blew up seemingly overnight.
I waited for her to hunt me down and let me have it.
Hell, a small part of me wanted her to…if only so I could see her again.
But she never did.
“What are you doing here?”
Because Lennon Michael standing in my hotel room doesn’t make any fucking sense.
Neither does me being handcuffed to a bed. Unless…
“Did we screw?”
No. Fuck that. There’s not a drug potent enough that would make me forget having sex with her last night.
Placing her hand over her heart, she laughs—actually laughs—as if the thought of fucking me again is hysterical.
“Oh, God. No.” She saunters over to the bed and all I can focus on is the sexy way her hips move when she walks. “I’m here on business.”
That makes even less sense. “Business?”
She crinkles her cute little nose. “Officially, I’m your new sober companion.”
I’m trying to process this when she leans down. The close proximity, her sweet scent, and her lips touching the shell of my ear have my cock thickening.
Until she speaks.
“But unofficially? I’m here to ruin you when you least expect it…and I want you stone-cold sober when I do it.”
Ice runs through my veins.
So many years went by, I figured I was in the clear and she’d either gotten over it or learned to make peace with what I did. Turns out I was wrong.
Because this is karma finally coming to collect.
There’s only one problem with that.
No way in hell am I giving her the chance to ruin what I’ve worked my ass off for.
I don’t give a fuck that what I did warrants retaliation…or how much I want her.
No pussy is worth sacrificing my dream for. Not even hers.
She’ll have to pry my career from my cold, dead fingers.
Because without music—without that magic I get to experience on stage—I’m as good as dead.
She wrote a song—a damn good one—but it doesn’t mean she’s entitled to my goddamn soul.
Not that I have one of those anymore.
I grab her wrist with my free hand. “You might have gotten hotter, but not smarter.”
Her eyes narrow. “I beg your pardon, asshole?”
I give her a smug smile, designed to piss her off even more. “Pro tip from someone who knows a thing or two about screwing people over? Don’t expose your plans to them. It’s a lot easier when they don’t see it coming.”
The sting from her slapping my cheek makes me groan, and it’s all I can do not to slip my hand inside those skintight jeans and make her come all over my fingers again.
“Is that all you got, Groupie?”
She’s looking at me like a kid who just came face-to-face with the monster hiding under their bed. Good.
“I am not your groupie.”
No, she’s the secret demon that’s been living in my head for the past four years.
The one mocking all my success and accomplishments, because even though my talent crowned me the king of rock…my kingdom was built with her gift.
And I fucking hate it.
Which is why she needs to take her ass back to Hillcrest, where she belongs.
Lennon isn’t gonna go without a fight though, because she doubles down. “And I want you to see it coming, Phoenix. Because, unlike my song you stole, I want all the credit this time.”
I keep my expression neutral. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I think you have me confused with someone else.”
Wrath flashes in her pretty eyes. “You know damn well what I’m talking about.”
I need her gone. Now.
So I hit her with the kill shot.
“The only thing I know is that you’ve always been obsessed with me, but this is pathetic, even for you. Don’t worry, though. Once I talk to Chandler and tell him he mistakenly hired my high school stalker, he’ll put you on the next plane home and send you back to your daddy.”
This time, she spits in my face.
Smirking, I wipe it off my jaw and lick it. “You still taste good, Groupie. It’s a shame you won’t be here long.”