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Or is it?
I pause, struck by an unexpected thought. Do I want more from her than just the physical connection? Underneath the sarcastic barbs and icy glares, I’ve glimpsed her passion for this place, and her care for the students. She tries hard to hide it, but there’s a warmth to Sloane that draws me in.
I want to know that woman under the armor. The one who creates beauty through music and gives these kids confidence. Who stands up for what’s right. The Sloane she doesn’t let anyone see.
Could it become something real between us? I’ve never had that - it was always just casual flings and hookups. No connections, no emotion. It’s easier. But Sloane makes me imagine that a relationship might be worthwhile for the first time.
I laugh bitterly at myself. Who am I kidding? She’d never fall for a reckless mess like me. Would she? No, I can’t let myself go down that road.
Forget it, Cooper.
Maybe I should just quit. That would solve everything. Ethan would jump for joy if I did, so there’s that, at least.
God damn, I fucked this all up.
* * *
“Dude, that’s probably enough, don’t you think?” Remy asks, for, I think, a third time. I don’t know. I’ve lost count.
“No, Dad. I don’t.” I grab my beer and down it, determined to drink away the humiliation of asking Sloane out. What the hell made me think she’d ever say yes? And why would I even ask in the first place? “Let’s go somewhere else. This bar makes me sad.”
He laughs at me but follows as I head back onto the Strip.
“I’m not relationship material, and I know it,” I announce as we walk to another bar. “Still, the way she looks at me sometimes...I swear it’s like she sees past the rockstar bullshit, you know?”
“Who the hell are you talking about?”
“I told you. The scary girl of my dreams.” I glance around, suddenly worried she’s right behind me, hearing everything I’m saying about her. She’s not.
“That sounds more like a nightmare, dude.” He laughs, and I don’t like that he’s laughing at this stuff. It’s serious business. It’s important.
Maybe I should shut the fuck up.
People are starting to stare, and I don’t like it.
Inside the next bar, I chug another beer, craving the numbness. I need to stop. No more thinking about her smile, her passion, the way she cares about people. Cares about me, even when I fuck up. I don’t deserve someone like that.
I motion for another shot and throw it back quick. The alcohol burns away thoughts of holding her, kissing her perfect lips. Of what we could build together.
No, the only thing I know how to build is a reputation for being a fucking disaster. I’m a goddamn train wreck. Too broken to love someone that deeply, that beautifully. Too toxic to risk poisoning her spirit.
The booze blurs the bar around me as I accept this simple fact - I’m no good for her. No matter how I may feel, she deserves better than the disaster that is me. Always will.
* * *
After a night where I apparently drank everything I could to forget about Sloane Castle, I wake up to the biggest hangover of my life and another Blindsided story about me. The new tabloid story is just further evidence that I destroy everything good in my path.
Fucking hell.
BACK IN THE SADDLE AGAIN
Cooper Davies is back to his old rockstar antics, even amid his newly reformed reputation recently as a guitar mentor for the Rhapsody Foundation music program for underprivileged kids of L.A. It seems his being a positive influence only goes so far. As these photos show from last night, Davies let loose his wild side again while cruising the Sunset Strip, openly drinking and getting into occasional brawls with bystanders on the sidewalk before being hustled along by his bandmate and apparent partner-in-crime for the evening, Remy Matthews. His rhythm guitarist could only do so much to keep the cameras away as Cooper made his way from one bar to another, causing chaos everywhere he went.
Our cameras followed him the entire night and caught him in compromising positions we couldn’t even print. Needless to say, this reckless tiger can’t seem to change his stripes, no matter how hard he tries. But is he really trying? Candy-coated reputation boosts, like his job at Rhapsody, don’t fool this reporter who has seen his type come and go over the years. It’s mostly a ‘go.’ Rockers like him are a dime a dozen in L.A.. Hopefully, Murderous Crows will act sooner rather than later before he pulls the entire band down with him in his alcohol-fueled descent. They are better than this. At least, they should be by now after the recent tragic death of their late drummer, Andy Young. Their lead guitarist still hasn’t learned anything from it.
What the actual fuck? Who the hell wrote this? Now, they’ve gone too far. Now, it’s getting personal.
twelve
