Sex God Page 3

  “I was there for a second,” Austin confirmed. “But it was boring, so I left.”

  “Yeah, you left with a hot brunette,” someone else added. “Looked familiar too.”

  “What’s the deal, James?” the first guy teased. “Not enough new girls so you’re double dipping now?”

  “Shut up,” Austin said.

  I leaned closer to the entry, hoping that Austin would tell them all that they were being pigs. That the girl he had been with last night had been special. That it had been something different than his usual hookups.

  “Come on,” the second guy said. “You’re not even going to give us the details? Not even a name?”

  “She’s totally been here before,” the third guy said. “She knows Luke, or something.”

  “Oh shit, dude,” the first guy said. “Are you hooking up with one of his leftovers? Are you guys Eskimo brothers now?”

  “What the fuck is an Eskimo brother?” the third guy asked.

  “It’s when you and your best friend fuck the same girl,” the first guy responded.

  Ugh. Guys were gross, I thought. For a moment, I considered interrupting them, but then I heard Austin speak.

  “Don’t be fucking pigs,” he told them. “I ran into Luke’s sister outside the party and walked her home.”

  “Sure, dude,” the third guy said.

  “She’s just a kid,” Austin said, his tone bored. “I didn’t want some douchebag taking advantage, so I made sure she got back to her dorm. Trust me, the last thing I want is to get involved with Luke’s annoying little sister.”

  “He’d fucking knock your face in,” one of the other guys said, and they all laughed.

  “See? It’s not even an issue. She’s a good girl, total nerd. You know I don’t go for that.”

  I couldn’t listen to any more. I turned and hurried downstairs again, dumping my coffees in the trash on the way out.

  I bit back my tears. I should have known better. Austin was just a manwhore player, and I was still just his best friend’s little sister.

  Last night had meant nothing to him.

  Straightening, I flipped my middle finger up at his floor. “Fuck you,” I whispered, and then said it again, louder. Then, I turned on my heels and left. I never wanted to see or hear about Austin James ever again.

  3

  Austin

  Present Day

  * * *

  Mia Stevens?

  Fuck.

  I hadn’t wanted to go to this stupid party in the first place, but my agent had insisted. And I had been perfectly content, drinking by myself in the VIP section, until a hot blonde in a tight red dress and stiletto heels practically dragged me off to the bathroom for a mid-party orgasm.

  Not that I hadn’t been an active participant in the seduction, but the moment she came, I realized that I had absolutely no interest in continuing our torrid interaction. I was horny, but I wasn’t that horny.

  And now, I was face-to-face with the person I had least expected to see—and the person I least wanted to see at this particular moment: Luke’s baby sister. And she was all grown up.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Had she been there the whole time? Had she heard everything? From the look on her face—one of complete and utter disgust—it was pretty clear that she’d had a front row seat to my latest bout of debauchery. It didn’t even matter that this was the first time I’d done something like this in a long, long time, I knew that Mia thought I was trash. And I really couldn’t blame her.

  She gave me a once-over and pushed past me. Without saying a word, she washed her hands and checked her reflection. I couldn’t help but do the same. She looked good. Really good.

  Mia finished reapplying her red lip gloss in the mirror and turned towards me.

  Then she shoved a handful of paper towels at my chest so hard that I stumbled back.

  “Don’t forget to wash your hands,” she said with a smirk.

  And before I could respond, she was gone, leaving me standing alone in the bathroom, holding a handful of crumpled paper towels, feeling lower than the dirt on the bottom of my shoes.

  Which is exactly what I was.

  I didn’t bother returning to the party. I headed straight for the emergency exit and pushed outside into the cold New York air. I zipped my jacket up and began walking away from the club, which still had a crowd of people standing outside, apparently hoping to get in. I wanted to tell them that it wasn’t worth their time, but they would figure it out for themselves.

  I took another breath. Now that I was away from the crowds and the noise, I was feeling more like myself. And it was good to be back in the city again after all this time. Few things in the world were better than New York at night. The city could change in an instant. One block would be packed with people, all of them drinking and laughing and looking for a good time. The next block would be quiet and peaceful, a few people sitting out on their stoop, or walking their dog. New York was anything you wanted it to be, and right now I needed it to be one thing:

  A distraction.

  There was a guy standing at the corner smoking. I hadn’t smoked in months, but tonight I really needed a cigarette.

  “Hey.” I approached him. “Got a spare?”

  “Sure.” He offered it out and tossed me his lighter.

  I lit up and took a drag. It helped my mood a little, but it still didn’t erase the memory of Mia standing in front of me, fury and disappointment in her eyes.

  “Wait a minute . . . Aren’t you Austin James?” my Good Samaritan asked, frowning.

  I sighed. This was the flipside of the city. The visibility. The fame.

  “Dude, I fucking loved Method of Madness!” he exclaimed, looking pumped. “You guys were my favorite band.”

  “Thanks,” I said, taking another drag of the cigarette.

  “I was so bummed when you guys broke up,” my new friend said. “What the hell happened?”

  I gave a shrug. “Creative difference, you know.”

  As lies went, it was a good one. Vague, artistic, enough to keep people from asking anything more.

  It was also total bullshit.

  But this guy didn’t care; he was nodding enthusiastically. “Shame, shame. Are you working on anything new?”

  I nodded. My attempt to launch a solo career was the reason I was back in New York. I had spent the past year off the grid working on my first solo project. Music that was mine completely. It was the most exhilarating and terrifying thing I had ever done.

  And now I was about to announce it to the world.

  “That’s fucking awesome,” the guy said. “When does it come out?”

  “We’ll be announcing it soon,” I told him, finishing up my cigarette. “Thanks again for the smoke.” I shook his hand.

  “Any time,” he said. “Good luck!”

  I walked away, knowing that I should probably call a taxi or town car—something that a real celebrity would do—but instead, I just kept walking. I didn’t want to escape from New York, I wanted to soak it up. Because even though I had loved my time away from the city, it was good to be back.

  * * *

  It was late when I got back to my apartment, but I wasn’t tired at all. In fact, I couldn’t stop thinking about Mia. What had she been doing at the party in the first place? it didn’t seem like her kind of scene, but maybe I didn’t know what her scene was anymore.

  What were the odds of running into her again?

  Luke talked about his sister occasionally, but I had always tried not to seem too interested. Even though nothing had really happened between us—except for one scorching hot kiss—I knew that it was a clear violation of the code between friends. Thou shalt not lust after your best friend’s sister. Especially since Luke was more than just a friend to me; he was the brother I wished I’d had.

  And apparently, in my attempt to not seem interested in Mia, I had no idea what was actually going on in her life at the moment. So, I googled her. I knew I
shouldn’t, I knew I should just forget about seeing her, but it was hard to forget those full lips and dark flashing eyes. She had always been tough. She had always been gorgeous.

  She had always been way out of my league.

  I was surprised to find that she was working at ChatBuzz. The gossip/news site didn’t fit with her dreams of being a serious journalist, and as I scrolled through her bylines on old articles, it didn’t make any more sense. Damn. She had been the person who had pushed me to pursue what I had felt was an impossible dream. Why had I made it, and she hadn’t? I knew it wasn’t an issue of talent—back in college, I had read everything she’d written, sneaking the student paper from Luke after he was done like I was hiding porn under my bed. But hey, maybe I didn’t know her anymore. She could really love writing the Top Ten Moments Chris Evans Made Us Go Aww.

  But somehow, I didn’t think so.

  I poured myself a glass of whiskey and pulled out my guitar. Neither held any answers, but they soothed me in a way that nothing else did—my guitar especially. I could play all night, practicing songs or writing new ones. Music made me feel like myself. Made me feel grounded. It seemed impossible now that I had ever considered giving it up, but looking back to that crossroads I faced in college, I know I had Mia to thank for putting me on the right path.

  Maybe that’s why it feels like fate that our paths have crossed all over again.

  * * *

  I fell asleep on the couch again, waking only when someone kicked my foot, and I opened my eyes, my neck sore, to find a familiar face staring down at me.

  “Good morning, sunshine.” Zoey held out a cup of coffee.

  I struggled to sit up, my head aching, probably from the unholy combination of whiskey and cigarettes. Now I was acutely reminded of the reason I had quit smoking for months. My mouth felt like the dirtiest, oldest ashtray.

  “Thanks.” I took the coffee and took a long drink, not even caring that it was so hot that it burned my tongue. “But I’ve told you that you don’t need to bring me coffee in the morning,” I reminded Zoey. “You’re not an assistant anymore.”

  “I know,” she said, kicking my foot again. “It’s called being a nice person. Also, you paid for it. And for mine,” she showed me her own industrial-sized cup of coffee. “Thank you, company credit card.”

  I lifted mine in a salute, before squinting at the clock on the wall.

  “It’s early,” I groaned.

  “Yep.” She pulled up a chair next to the couch. “And we have a lot to do today.”

  I knew Zoey from way back. When Method of Madness was formed, she was just out of college—a spitfire with a love for music and a knack for handling ornery musicians. She had even been able to soothe Danny when he was in the midst of one of his many childish tantrums about the respect and fame he felt he deserved.

  But like most people around Danny, Zoey had been underappreciated and underutilized. So when we split up and I decided to pursue my own solo career, I had happily relinquished custody of our old manager. Danny could have him. After all, I had never been comfortable with the way both of them seemed to define success. It seemed to involve a lot of drinking, women, and drugs. All of which got very old, very quickly.

  When the dust settled after the band’s breakup, I ran into Zoey again, and realized my new manager had been right in front of me all along. She’d been the one doing the real work all that time, just without the paycheck or status. She had jumped at the opportunity, and despite her inexperience, had proven herself over and over again. Offering her the position continued to be the best decision I had made in a long time. Part of my fresh start—doing things right this time around.

  But now, looking at the gleam in her eyes, I was starting to think that maybe I should have chosen someone who would have allowed me to sleep in when I was hung over. Because Zoey was a lot of things, but gentle wasn’t one of them.

  “We need to talk about the publicity plans,” she said, dragging a hand through her blue-streaked hair. Last week it had been pink. Her hair was always changing. “You’re really pushing it with this last-minute announcement. Most people schedule their release months ahead of time, instead of just dropping the news out of nowhere.”

  “Beyoncé did it.”

  Zoey hooted with laughter. “Austin, I love you, dude, but you’re no Queen B.”

  “Fair enough. But I don’t want to do the usual press tour,” I told her. “Schmoozing with journalists, telling the same old stories, it’s not me.”

  “I know,” she said. “But you’re going to have to do something if you want people to know about the album.”

  I sighed. That was the problem with all of this—I wanted to make music and I wanted people to hear it. I just didn’t want to promote it. I hated the whole puff-piece interview cycle—going on TV or on the radio, trying to give everyone a soundbite they could use to drum up excitement or drama around the music. And I knew that everyone was going to want to talk about the reason that Method of Madness broke up.

  It wasn’t something I wanted to talk about. Besides, it wasn’t even really my story to tell.

  “You need to do something,” Zoey told me, her voice firm. “An interview or two with a major website. You need to let the world know that you’re back. We can make sure it’s a good profile piece—focused on the music, not on the band’s breakup.” She gave me a thoughtful look. “There must be one publication that doesn’t give you the hives.”

  An idea popped into my head. It was probably a terrible idea. A really, really bad one, but once it had made itself known, I couldn’t chase it away.

  “OK,” I said slowly. “I’ll do an interview, but it has to be with ChatBuzz.”

  “ChatBuzz?” Zoey sounded surprised.

  I couldn’t blame her—ChatBuzz wasn’t exactly known for its journalism. But I knew one person who could write a great piece about an upcoming album. Providing she didn’t hate me too much to consider it.

  “ChatBuzz or bust,” I told Zoey. “I’ll give them access for a real in-depth article, but on one condition. I want to be interviewed by Mia Stevens.”

  4

  Mia

  When I woke the day after the party, a part of me hoped that last night had just been a bad dream. That I hadn’t even gone to the club and that whole incident in the bathroom had just been some weird fever dream.

  But it wasn’t.

  Nope. I had actually overheard Austin James getting some girl off—and it sounded like he hadn’t lost any of his magic touch.

  I groaned into my pillow.

  The whole thing had happened so quickly that I hadn’t even had a chance to really look at him. To take him in. It was probably better that way. Still, I couldn’t help fumbling for my phone and checking online to see if there were any pictures of him from last night.

  There were. A few celebrity gossip sites had posted pictures of the celebrities that had been in attendance, and there he was, in those scruffy boots of his. Apparently, he had also been wearing a pair of beat-up jeans and a tight black shirt with a leather jacket. Still dressing like he had in college, though I would bet that each item—no matter how worn it looked—had been manufactured to look that way. And all of it probably cost more than my month’s rent.

  That’s how it was with celebrities, especially musicians. And even though Luke liked to say that Austin hadn’t changed, that he was a nice guy and a good friend, I had a hard time believing it. I didn’t doubt that he had been a good friend to Luke, but nice guy? Doubtful. After that conversation I’d overheard in college, I knew the truth about who he really was. A player. And it looked like the past eight years hadn’t changed that one bit. He wasn’t some unique, special musician with a tender heart looking for love. He was a manwhore who got random girls off in the bathroom of parties.

  But damn, he was still gorgeous.

  I allowed myself a few more seconds of looking at his picture before I tucked my phone away and dragged myself out of bed. OK, yeah, he was fuck
ing hot, but so were lots of guys in this city. The only reason my skin got all hot and itchy at the thought of Austin was because I hadn’t had sex in a long, long time. It had nothing to do with him.

  The smell of coffee drew me out of my room, and I went into the kitchen to find my roommate Grace making breakfast. Without even asking, she poured me a cup of coffee. “Thanks, babe.”

  I took a grateful gulp. Grace was a full-on coffee nerd. She spent a good portion of her paycheck making sure she got the best coffee in the city—coffee that was fair trade and environmentally friendly as well. She worked in marketing for a small skincare company, one that was as focused as she was on making sure they were making the world a better place. All the free samples she brought home, plus the delicious coffee every morning, made her the world’s best roommate.

  “How was the party last night?” she asked.

  Unsurprisingly she had been in bed when I got home. Grace loved order and it was a rare occasion that got her to break her carefully organized schedule and stay up past ten.

  “It was OK,” I said, taking a long sip of coffee. “Mmm, that’s good.”

  “It’s a new blend,” she said. “Should I add it to the rotation?”

  “Definitely,” I told her, smiling as I watched her add the name of the coffee blend to her schedule of coffees that was listed on the fridge.

  “Meet anyone fun?” she asked.

  I paused, debating how much I should tell her. In the end, I shared all of it—except the details of my history with Austin. No one needed to know that I had fallen for his bullshit eight years ago. I was older and wiser now, and everything else was ancient history.

  Grace’s eyes were wide as I told her about listening in on Austin’s evening bathroom delight.

  “In the bathroom?” she asked, wrinkling her nose. “That sounds kind of dirty.”

  “I think that was the point,” I offered. “Though, to be fair, it was a really nice bathroom. Very classy.”