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Savage chuckles and takes the bottle from me. “Meh. I already check plenty of boxes in ‘Rockstar Cliché Bingo.’ No need to check them all off, right?”
“You think you’re a rockstar cliché?” I ask.
He looks at me, as if to say, Well, obviously. But he says, “If I’m not already, then I’m well on my way.” He takes a long drag of his cigarette. “Honestly, one of my biggest fears is that I’ll become so beholden to the money and fame and all the . . . expectation, I’ll forget who I am and why I do this. I’ll become exactly that—a cliché. A parody of myself.” He looks out at the dark ocean. “I mean, come on, I’ve got to think ‘dick pic trending on Twitter’ is at the center square on every ‘Rockstar Cliché Bingo’ card, right? So, I’m probably already fucked.”
I stare at his exquisite profile for a long moment, overcome by my attraction to him, and finally say, “I heard a rumor you posted that shot yourself—for publicity or whatever. True?”
He scoffs. “Not true.” He flicks some ash from his cigarette onto the ground. “I had nothing to do with it, other than I was stupid enough to take a shower after sex with someone I barely knew, without locking the door.”
I contemplate that response for a moment, while, again, admiring his gorgeous profile. His lips as he sucks on his cigarette. I hate cigarettes and don’t find them sexy. But I must admit the way Savage is sucking on that thing, and licking his lips in between, makes me wonder what it would be like to kiss him. To have him perform oral sex on me. Sex, sex, sex. Suddenly, that’s all I’m thinking about. Sex with Adrian Savage.
I clear my throat and motion to the cigarette between his lips. “Aren’t you worried you’re gonna get addicted? Nicotine is supposedly more addictive than cocaine.”
Savage shrugs. “Like I said, I only smoke when I’m drunk and feel the overwhelming urge to put something in my mouth.” He licks his lips again, this time even more suggestively than before. And, right on cue, I’m feeling the beginning stirrings of arousal again.
I shift my position on the ground, trying to alleviate the faint pulsing between my legs. “My dad was a heavy smoker and my sister and I once stole one of his cigarettes, when we were, like, nine and twelve. And the minute I inhaled, I thought I was going to die. I thought it was the most disgusting thing I’d ever tasted in my life.”
“And you’ve never tried it again?”
I shake my head. “Why would I, when I know how bad it is for me? Plus, I associate smoking with my father, and he’s not a good memory.”
“Is he dead?”
“No. Just out of my life. And good riddance.”
He holds up the bottle. “Cheers to that.” He takes a swig and hands it to me.
“Cheers to that,” I echo, before taking a long guzzle. “Uh oh,” I say. “Does this qualify as me drowning my sorrows, now that I’ve mentioned my asshole father?”
He chuckles. “Yeah. Probably.”
“You seriously never drown your sorrows?”
He shrugs. “You associate cigarettes with your asshole father. I associate being an angry, pissed off drunk with mine. Good riddance.”
“Cheers to that.” I take a swig and hand him the bottle.
“Cheers to that,” he echoes, before taking a long sip.
My heart is thundering at this unexpectedly amazing conversation. I don’t know how I thought this “confrontation” was going to go when I marched out here . . . but never in a million years did I think it would go like this. Savage seems almost normal. Likeable and friendly. And insanely, irresistibly hot.
“So, what do you do whenever you feel like drowning your sorrows, if you don’t drink?” I ask.
Savage blows a stream of smoke into the air, but this time, pointedly, away from me. “Various things. I work out. Write a song. Jack off. Or, if convenient, I fuck.”
A soft whimper escapes my lips, so I press them together and look out at the ocean to gather myself. Well, that was a fascinating answer.
“You still dating the basketball player?” he asks, out of nowhere. And I’m shocked he knows that false fact about me. Kendrick told him about that? Now, why would he do that?
I pause, not sure how to play this. Should I come clean and admit I lied to Kendrick, because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings? Or should I lean into the lie?
Before I’ve decided, Savage says, “I overheard Tracy putting Malik’s name onto the VIP list for the New York charity show.”
There’s jealousy glinting in his dark eyes, as plain as day. He’s trying to hide it, but it’s there. The same way it was there when I flirted with Cash in front of him at Reed’s party. And, suddenly, I know exactly how to play this. Lean into the lie.
