I gulped. “Then what?”
“We slipped out the side and made our escape.”
“Did anyone see us?”
“Charlie and Ky. They were parked across the street from the house. Charlie called your name, but Ky distracted him. They had their hands all over each other and they looked like they were in a hurry to get home too,” Clay said with a laugh. “We didn’t talk to them. We ordered a ride and drove across the city to your place.”
“And I invited you in.”
“Yes.”
“And we had sex?” I whispered.
“Yeah.” He furrowed his brow and frowned. “Should I be insulted that you don’t remember?”
“Probably.” I swiped my hand over my jaw and heaved a sigh. “To be honest, I’m more curious about why you’d go home with a guy who was obviously fucked up.”
“I was drunk too.”
“Huh. I’ve never blacked out. Ever. That couldn’t have been alcohol. Did you drug me?”
“No, asshole,” he hissed. “I admit, I wanted you, but I’d never resort to drugging anyone to get laid. It’s not that hard to find a willing partner, fuck you very much.”
“Don’t get pissy. I’m the one who lost a few hours of my life. I woke up drenched in sweat and sick as a dog the next day. I thought I had the flu. Now I don’t think so,” I snorted. “I was alone too…no trace of anyone in my bed. And not to get too graphic, but my ass didn’t hurt.”
Clay made a funny face. “Well, mine did.”
“Oh.” That made sense. I didn’t like to bottom for guys I didn’t know well.
“Yeah, no doubt you had dried cum on your chest.”
I frowned. “Maybe. I took a shower right away, hoping I’d feel better. I guess I washed away the evidence.”
“There were condom wrappers in the trash,” he said helpfully.
“I got sick and took it out right away. Whatever.” I waved my hand dismissively like it might erase that night altogether.
“I might have a photo somewhere if you want to jog your memory. Seems like you’d rather not—”
“You took a picture?” I growled, smacking my hand on the table.
Clay started at my outburst, then narrowed his eyes. “Yes, and I showed it to you. I probably deleted it.”
“Probably?” I huffed incredulously. “I want that photo.”
“Hey, chill. Everything we did was consensual. I’m not the bad guy. I didn’t set you up then, and I’m not doing it now. But I gotta say, you’re killing my ‘I got fucked by a rock star’ buzz. I don’t give my ass to just anyone, you know.”
I almost laughed at his annoyed grumbling. I exhaled deeply and shook my head. “I believe you, but what exactly were you hoping to gain by this alliance with Zero?”
“Money,” he replied automatically. “Your band is on its way to the top. I can capture this time in your career in a unique photo collection highlighting intimate behind-the-scenes pics of Zero in action. You know, on your computer with a cup of coffee in the morning, silly studio hijinks, backstage prep, meet and greets with fans…a slice of life. The band has final say on all photos and on all accompanying verbiage. It’s your project. I’m just providing the medium.”
“Hmm. I want that photo.”
Clay inclined his head. “I’ll find it, but it’s not sexy. It’s our arms. No big deal.”
“I’ll judge for myself.”
“All right.” He handed over his credit card without looking at the bill when our server approached the table. “I might not have it at all, though.”
“Liar. You collect souvenirs, Clay. That’s all you wanted. The thrill of the chase and proof it happened.” I set my elbows on the table and leaned forward. “I’m not a notch on your bedpost.”
“Well, you kind of are,” he replied with a shrug.
“Hmph. Whatever happened between us isn’t for public consumption. It should never, ever, ever come up again. Got it?”
“Got it.” He thanked the waiter when he returned his card and signed his name on the receipt with a flourish. “But dude, it was hot sex.”
He gave me an X-rated rundown of our alleged exploits, featuring some wicked positions. And when my mind buzzed with a fleeting memory, I knew he was telling the truth. I also remembered I hadn’t felt well that day at all. I’d masked it with over-the-counter meds, mixed alcohol when I’d thought it was safe, and woke up feeling like I’d slept in a crypt. Wow. The party life of a rocker on the rise, I grumbled to myself.
“Sounds hot, but we’re not talking about it. Agreed?” I stood and held out my hand.
Clay shook it with a sigh. “Agreed. So, I guess the pretend dating thing really is a no-go.”
“Yeah, I don’t see the point. Let’s just stick to business.”
He nodded in acquiescence before leading the way through the restaurant toward the main entrance. We gave the valet our tickets and waited near the kiosk, chatting amicably about his vision for Zero’s publication.