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“No. You did.”
Lacy dusts her hands off on the skirt of her dress. Not that her hands would ever be dirty. She straightens her spine, tries to keep the hurt off her face, but not quite accomplishing it.
The sadness I put there is killing me. She may be a spoiled rich girl, but I have no right to treat her like that. Especially when she’s just showing an interest in my life. Hell, for the first time outside bed, Lacy is truly trying to have a conversation that doesn’t start and end with snark. Why am I not jumping at this chance to connect?
“That’s what everyone thinks about me, right? I just took my daddy’s blood money and spent it on a wardrobe the cost ofwhich could fund a small country. All the papers are saying I knew what he’s been involved in. They’re pulling pictures of us from the one awkward Christmas dinner out we have a year. No one bothers to mention that dinner is spent in silence every year. That I’ve never known a thing about the man who spawned me. That he hates looking at me since my mother died, no matter how pretty I make myself. That he shipped me off to boarding school at eight years old.”
“Lacy—” I cross the few feet separating us, needing to hold her in my arms.
She backs away. I stop in my tracks. I’ve never forced a woman to do anything, and I’m not going to start now by forcing Lacy to let me comfort her.
“You know what else no one ever mentions in the paper? I don’t need Daddy’s blood money. You wanna know how I make my money?”
I go to answer, but she just keeps going. As if my mouth never opened to tell her I don’t give two shits about her money. Or her father’s money. I care about the smartass, brilliant, sexy, horrible cook standing in front of me.
“I went on a couple dates with a famous actor when I was twenty-two. Tabloids got a hold of the pictures of him groping me at a club. They went viral, and overnight, I went from the unknown daughter of a well-known financial genius to a party girl and socialite. Never mind that I didn’t want that guy’s hands on me. Or that I didn’t give two shits about the club scene. I went from having a couple dozen followers on Instagram, mostly friends and acquaintances, to thousands-upon-thousands of people looking at my photos.”
Lacy breaks the intense eye contact she’s maintained since starting her story. She glances at her fingers as they weave around the delicate fabric of her skirt. “It was addicting, all that attention after never being given any as a kid. I’m not sayingI wasn’t already a bit of a brat when I started getting a little famous. I was. I am. Don’t think I don’t know.”
“Lace, you don’t have to tell me all this.” I force my arms to stay at my sides, but they ache to touch her. To make her feel good. To reassure her that she’s perfect just as she is. Jesus, if anyone knows the addictive qualities of people hanging on your every word, it’s me.
“I know.” Meeting my eyes once again, I’m shocked to see hers are shining with unshed tears. In our time together, I’ve seen her get pissed, I’ve seen her throw tantrums, I’ve even seen her totally defeated. I’ve never seen her cry.
“I haven’t known a whole lot of good men in my life, Scott. But I’d have to be an idiot not to recognize that you are the very best of men. You protected me when I was a stranger. Kept me sheltered and fed even though I’ve been nothing but a little shit to you. You’ve held me at night even when I try to put distance between us. I don’t know how to act around a good man. Have no clue how to process your kindness. But, I want you to know something about me that’s real. That’s more than just me stomping around making demands.”
I nod, feeling like complete shit because I’m not as good as she thinks. I may not be lying to her outright about my fame, but I’m lying by omission. All the justifications I’ve been giving myself about not wanting her to look at me differently are bullshit.
“When I got famous, I decided I wanted to do something with it. Not just post selfies all day and watch the likes pile up, even though it made me feel good each time a notification buzzed through on my phone. I have a degree in fashion marketing. Before getting insta-famous, I had been working my way up at a fashion house. I started posting about the new designers I discovered through my job. Posting about products I loved but didn’t have huge followings. People started buying the things Iliked, simply because I posted about them. Then I started getting offers from companies. They wanted to pay me insane amounts of money to post about their products. I only agreed to the ones I believed in, even if they weren’t the highest paying. Within six months of those pictures being posted, I was able to quit my job, I opened all my own bank accounts, ignored my trust fund, and it’s just been me ever since.”
She huffs this little laugh that is miles away from actually being amused. “That’s the part that pisses me off more than anything. Not only did they freeze the accounts connected to the family money, which I haven’t touched in years. They froze my personal accounts. The ones filled with moneyI’veearned.”
Once she’s done, Lacy stands taller, pride in this unconventional career obvious in her every feature. But also, a little insecurity. Like she’s afraid I’ll put her down for what she does. That will never happen. “Will you let me come closer now?”
She nods. Bites her lip.
In two steps, I’ve got her pressed against me. Finally, my heart and body relax. “I think you are amazing. I like that you know what you want and demand it. I love that you give me shit. I love even more that you give over control when we’re naked. Everything you just told me just reiterates what a strong, amazing woman you are.”
Lacy might not be the nicest person I’ve ever met. She might treat people like they should be getting her what she wants. But I see beneath all that. That is a product of her childhood, of being raised by paid staff instead of parents. And she’s been doing better. Cleaning up after herself. Thanking me. Softening right before my eyes. I can see her past melting away to reveal the person she truly is.
On the tip of my tongue are the words I need to tell her. About my band, my money, my fame. But just as I’m about tospill everything, flashes of the women who came before blind me, and my jaw clamps shut. The users who only wanted me for what I could do for them. Discovering them fucking my bandmates or other musicians when they thought they could do more for them. The one time I fell in love with a woman, she showed up naked in Brandt’s hotel room, he threw her out and wouldn’t even touch her, but the incident left a wound that never fully healed.
After I went to rehab, stopped partying, stopped drinking, and getting high, the hangers-on magically disappeared. The groupies and models looking to level up their careers still came around, but I’d learned my lesson.
Lacy won’t do those things, I know she won’t. But an unreasonable part of me screams to wait. To see how things play out.
Idiot that I am, I listen.
Chapter Seven
Lacy
“Ican’t. Please, Scott, no more.” My body is completely wrung out.
The minute I came home from being out all day, Scott pounced on me like I’d been gone weeks, not hours. We heaped my clothes in a pile in thirty seconds flat. My first orgasm came not two minutes later.
Just like always, we’d stumbled and fucked our way around the apartment. For some reason, whenever we get together, we can’t just stay in one spot and go at it. It becomes the Olympics of sex.
“You can, and you will. I said I was going to make you come four times before I did, and it’s only been three.” With his cock firmly lodged deep inside me, Scott strides over to the couch and sits down. My body has a mind of its own, automatically writhing and bouncing on his dick like it’s my own personal Pogo stick.
